


Arena for the Dead

by Samwiches



Category: Fate/Apocrypha, Fate/Grand Order, Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night (Visual Novel), Fate/stay night - All Media Types, Fate/stay night: Heaven's Feel (Anime 2017)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - No Holy Grail War (Fate), Battle Royale - Freeform, Blood and Torture, Competition-Set Fic, Curse Breaking, Epic Battles, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms References, Heroic Spirits, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Post-Fate/Zero, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Self healing, Telekinesis, Underworld, explicit content will take a lot of story to get to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 56
Words: 266,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23485831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samwiches/pseuds/Samwiches
Summary: After the events of the Fourth Holy Grail War; Diarmuid Ua Duibhne was trapped within the Grail, slowly falling into corruption. In Hell's Lobby, he is approached by a strange woman. Not strung in by his love spot, she proposes an unlikely partnership for an orchestrated Battle Royale among the Damned. With his soul at stake, and salvation as his reward- he takes the opportunity for redemption- one, final time.A story of mending emotions, a battle royal style tournament that is not as it seems and finding what you're missing within someone else.Based off the LN's final lines in Dia's tragic death;"He screamed curses until the final moment when he disappeared. There was no longer the glorious figure of a Heroic Spirit, but only an evil spirit roaring with resentment."
Relationships: Diarmuid Ua Duibhne | Lancer/Original Character(s), Diarmuid Ua Duibhne | Lancer/Original Female Character(s), Emiya Kiritsugu & Emiya Shirou, Kuzuki Souichirou/Medea | Kuzuki Souichirou/Caster
Comments: 251
Kudos: 115





	1. Hell's Lobby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally thank my Beta for joining me on this journey! Check out Valancy here:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/users/valancyjane74
> 
> This story takes place in an Alternate Universe where the Gods exist but have adjusted knowledge of themselves in the world to leave the humans to their vices. Some characters refer to the underworld with different understandings of what it is, as well. (Such as Haley calling it Hell, but for where they are, itd be Tartarus.) Anywho, Enjoy!

Clouds of smoke filled her lungs as the woman wrinkled her nose. Her knuckles brushed her nostrils as she puffed up her chest and wrapped herself tighter in the heavy trench coat covering her light figure. She muttered something under her breath about how this in-between world so closely resembled the living world. Though, the blistering cold air caressed her skin and reminded her she is no longer among the living.

The psychic carefully meandered through the growing number of people and strange, underworld creatures. It was awkward to brush up against the unnatural normalcy of their bodies. Physical forms that shouldn't exist, all devoid of the usual warmth that a living body would produce. 

Back pressed along the cobbled walls dimly lit by the faded bulbs, she cautiously found a rounded stool seat and turned to the bartender; he gave her a sideways, analytical glance. She only offered him a light nod in his direction, before her eyes ventured through the bulk of souls gathered. _Nothing_. Her head dropped to her chest in disquiet - she needed to hurry, to find the soul she was seeking— before her life force became detectable. Before the dead realized that a living soul wandered their domain.

Awkwardly, she pushed off the hard, rounded cushion; she dared to raise her azure eyes and caught the scorning gaze of a sublimely-toned man. The scar stretching a torn path from the corner of his lips to his eyelids made her shudder involuntarily. His crusted look is almost damning. Her lip twitched, and she took a backward step.

"Apologies," she squeaked, and turned on her toes to avoid the man’s dagger-like eyes. His body language was anything but welcoming, and thankfully—after he muttered a curse at her—he didn’t follow. 

She scanned the lobby as she exhaled a breath of relief. The rear of the room was furnished with dull brown lounge chairs, and seemingly fewer dead entities. Before she could provoke any further notice, she glided over to examine the souls: they were chatting, relaxing, and even playing darts. 

_Where is this soul?_ She was informed that she would be dropped as close to her target as possible. By now, she had almost ventured the entire— _Wait_. Her eyes narrowed. In the corner - along the window panes that omit little light from the outside - are some booths. The man she was hunting is situated in the rear corner booth that brushes against the wall.

His features were more mesmerizing in person: his body was all hard muscle, toned at the base; his cut abdominals protruded through the tight tunic that turtle-necked at his throat. It's an awkward, pine-green color that complements his pale skin tone. His eyes are jaded, a faint red tinge in the background of the slits. 

After she inhaled a confidence-boosting breath, and calmly strutted toward him. As she neared, his lure became as obnoxiously powerful as the legends proclaimed. The pull from the mole beneath his right eye dragged her heart and mind to it—but her ability snapped it to subsume the magic into her own and dismantle it. Her mind can't be infiltrated by curses, nor anything else cerebrally manipulative. Her consciousness is always clear. 

She closed the distance between herself and the man seemingly lost in thoughts (of turmoil and angst, she sensed); here is the Servant from the Fourth Holy Grail War: Diarmuid ua Duibhne.

Fists propped under his chin, he didn’t even give the woman who approached, a swift interested glance. He’d known—even in the pits of this purgatory—that a woman would eventually be drawn to him, enticed by his love spot. The cursed thing under his eye. Funny, how even this shadowy world left him with something that burdened him so.

"You're Diarmuid, correct?" The Lady asked in a whisper.

Diarmuid lifted an eyebrow curiously, but maintained his stare out the window. He watched as the fog drifted through the still trees in the shadows.

"Indeed," he scoffed and peered over his shoulder at the girl. He scrutinized her odd choice of apparel. She had gloves that ran to the bends of her elbows and left her fingertips exposed. She revealed her face from behind the trench coat she was using as a disguise. The collar of her romper—unbuttoned from the waist up—sat lax around the neck. The upper cleavage of her chest peeked from the top of her tank as she angled to the side of the chair.

A quirky smile adorned her face as she gestured her hand to the ripped leather beside him.

"May I?" He shrugged before he leaned forward on the hardwood table top that separated them. Her long brown hair matched the dark wood, but her bright turquoise eyes and unwavering attention are what sparked his interest.

"If you must, but I warn you… " 

He extracted his fingers from the round of his chin and placed his hands flat on the table.

"… If you become troublesome, your situation will rapidly turn dire." An empty threat. He would do anything to remain as far from a woman as possible. In the final moments before the ultimate end befell him—his last wish was to remain unbothered.

The woman scrunched her eyebrows together and curled her lip in confusion.

"You threaten me? What would you do? Have me teleport, since 'killing' someone in this place does nothing but bounce their soul around? As if." 

She scooted in closer and wiggled her arms from her side to rest them on the table as she sighed with disappointment.

"How is this even comfortable?"

"You supposed it should be? Did you forget where you are, miss? I do not believe they care to make the residents comfortable before their departure into hellish torture," he retorted, displeased. 

What was with this woman? Hadn't she received the same speech to her consciousness as he did? Or had she developed amnesia when she talked to him—because of his curse? He watched as her hands pulled the romper's shorts down just a bit; they had rolled up when she sat down.

"I guess not… " she shrugged nonchalantly and looked about suspiciously, before she leaned in closer.

"I suspect that a way out would be nice, right?"

Diarmuid gave her an exasperated look and shook his head. Did this woman have a torture wish? Spouting such nonsense in this location would put a target on her back. And his. 

The Irishman scanned every rickety chair that is occupied by regulars in grubby tunics, their shifty gazes accompanied by hurried whispers and outlawed bargains. Particularly, Diarmuid eyed the warriors in the corners; they sulked about, weapons ready. Didn’t seem like anyone heard her.

"Miss, you'll cause me a great deal of trouble if you continue spitting those... treacherous ideas."

"You think so? Aren't you all about trouble after... " her voice trailed off as she fingered a strand of hair and twirled it around her finger, "… you cursed yourself into this hole?" 

He flinched at her words as if she’d slapped him. She frowned, realizing her mistake. This was not going as she had hoped. Her goal was not to antagonize or offend the dead-man.

"Sorry, it must still be fresh," she pointed at her own eyes and he lifted his brows. "The red?"

Diarmuid realized what the lady referred to. He hadn't really looked at himself in a mirror since his drop here after the Grail's destruction. He turned his head and peered into the window glass for a glimpse of his gloomy face. There in his reflection; the former Servant observed the tint of red in his irises, the slit in his pupils, with the rest coated in crimson. Ah - he must look like a monster to her.

"I hadn't realized that I’d kept this grotesque look. The curse must still linger." He grimaced… This conversation was quickly turning disastrous.

"Well, back to -"

The woman started again, and Diarmuid abruptly cut her off again: "I believe I told you I preferred not to attempt such—"

She interjected just as rapidly, annoyed by his interruption.

"Oh, just _listen_. If you don't want to talk here - " she hunched over, " - do you know any place where we can canoodle in private?" 

He bent closer also; his eyes blazed at such a suggestion.

"No," he stated firmly. "Now _go_. Last warning, miss." Crimson eyes glowered at her, but she held his stare. The way she challenged him... was she not affected by his curse? One of the very few among the many that crossed his path?

The woman slid out from her chair and nearly crashed her leg into the table.

"I am not leaving until we talk. It will take only five minutes of your time; it's not like you have much to waste it on anyway, right?" The strange woman tilted forward and bestowed her most blissful smile. The sudden gentleness that infused her tone made Diarmuid uncustomarily awkward.

The Spear man hissed a breath before he replied, "Five minutes - then you'll leave me be?" He decided to finally oblige, and concluded that once he has listened to her useless rambling, he will find the nearest observer and report her madness. The high pitch of her voice was highly irritating. He had been sentenced to an outcome befitting a cursed, disloyal knight. He accepted that. The last thing he needed was to do anything that will hasten his descent.

The Lady agreed and took a step back; her boots clacked on the floor. Diarmuid attentively guided her to the back of the lounge and held the door open. He bowed slightly before he gestured for her to exit.

"After you, Miss."

"Chivalry suits you," she winked as she patted his right shoulder (since it wasn’t covered by the metal plate, unlike his left). "Too bad the concept died out a long time ago." 

His eyebrows knitted and lowered slightly as his lips formed a firm line.

"Cannot imagine why," he grunted as he yanked closed the door behind him; he was keen to not draw any more attention to their odd discourse. There were a couple of curious, wandering eyes that watched their strange encounter. He then gestured with his thumb to a small alley behind the building.

"Should be quiet there," Diarmuid remarked as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Of course. A dark alleyway. How inviting." She gulped and quickly assessed their surroundings. "Well - you first." 

The strange woman raised her palm suggestively; Diarmuid sighed at her lack of confidence. Whether it be because of him or the spot they were heading to didn't matter. She was in a holding realm for individuals—just like herself—heading to the Realm of the Wicked. How someone could be so... subtly afraid was beyond him. The lady had to have done _something_ to earn a ferry here.

They walked in silence to the back of the building. Diarmuid rested his back on the brick wall under the stair case that leads to the upper parts of the building. A small light illuminated his face.

"Well, get on with it, Miss," he urged. The faster she talked, the better. The smell of rotten trash wafted over from the dumpster not too far off, and little demonic rats scurried underfoot.

The woman took a deep breath.

"You—along with others—have a chance to be spared from going to Hell-Tartarus. Whatever. The circumstances of your sentencing are vague, at best. The curse you wished upon the Grail wasn't the reason behind its darkness is one such anomaly, since it had been corrupted in a Grail war long before yours. Not only that: your anger and frustration towards the people who made you do such a thing was... understandable. So the decision is to be reconsidered, but of course -"

The woman sighed and flicked her wrist, as a bony rat that malingered by her ankles crashed into a wall.

Diarmuid jerked at the sudden motion; he didn’t quite understand how the rat was flung without her physically touching it. _Something to ponder later_ , he rightfully thought, as she continued on:

"Of course, there is a price. The Gods are bored, so they want the spirits to fight for a second chance. With some help, of course." Her crystal eyes focused on his blood-red ones.

"So they elicited mediators—such as me—to act as a 'Master' or whatever, to help you fight for your freedom in a battle royale." The woman dug her hands into the pockets of her romper, as the crisp, still air was beginning to bother them.

"It's a bit messed up if you ask me, but if it frees your soul then I am up for it. I would act as a stand-in Master, to aid you in the fight with my own abilities. But the idea of Master is vastly different. The single seal given has stipulations in place to only stop you from killing me, or aid us in battle." She paused to take in his reaction.

His face was blank—unreadable—as Diarmuid listened to her proposal. The very idea behind the whole concept felt like poison on his tongue. To dip himself into the cup once more… is like slurping that poison to its full extent.

How could he even contemplate putting himself through that madness again? However... the thought of being released from his exile to the worst outcome for his pulled Spirit tempted him. To also have rules in place to ensure she doesn't abuse her control over him... even better…

But then again, to be under someone's _control_ once more? Utterly unacceptable. Desiring a second chance under a lord is why he is here to begin with. The idea was troublesome at every angle.

"Of course you can decline. But keep in mind, I am only here to help you. I don't think you deserve the punishment you are getting. I know all of what happened in the five Holy Grail Wars of Fuyuki, but your fate specifically leaves a bad taste in my mouth."

"I don't quite understand - who even are you? You come here, interrupting the last bit of peace I have. Just as such, you propose I do battle for an impossible wish. For what true reason? That I did not deserve this fate?" 

His harsh laugh bounced off the alleyway. "You needn't try to fool me. You must have another goal."

The woman carefully eyed him from head to toe. She pulled her hands from her pockets and folded her arms. She had envisioned he'd be skeptical, but thought he'd at least be tempted by the desire to battle again. But given his past - it is understandable that he is suspicious of her.

"My main goal is truly to save you; do you wanna know who I am? Then make the deal with me. You have _nothing_ to lose, Diarmuid. If you partake in the battle, there is no punishment unless you break the rules. Which is what I am here for. If we lose, you still go to the very Hell you're whining about. So why NOT take the risk? If you have a chance to prove and free yourself, why not do it since the outcome of losing is still the same? Hmm?"

Diarmuid's fists clenched at his sides as his nails bit into his palms from frustration.

"How do I know what you're proposing is truth? What proof of such things do you have?" 

The woman closed the gap between them and snatched his hand. She uncurled his fingers and laced them with her own. Diarmuid flinched at the gesture. He almost ripped his hands from her the instant she intertwined them. But his gaze steadied on their interlocked digits instead.

"They're... warm?" This heat he felt from the palms of her hands...how? They’re were clammy, as if she had sweated from nervousness in this cold, damp place. His eyes slowly found hers; they glared back into his.

"Is that proof enough? No _sane_ living being would come into to this world if they didn't have some sort of goal in mind. Like say, saving a certain soul?"

This was not possible. It had to be some sort of trick or spell. But then again, the souls of this realm were stripped of all their magic and any additional power or weapon. The bodies they inhabited of their old selves are mere copies, which leads them to be cold and useless. A reminder of what they used to be along with the few luxuries and temptation in the gates to the Underworld- and what they are. Dead.

But her hands are flared, warm and soft to the touch. Diarmuid must confirm. His other, large hand, drew up from his right side and he laid a gentle palm on the left side of her chest, just above the breast. She barely moved, but the twitch of her lip showed she was not comfortable with his prodding. Which was unfathomable - considering she is a woman, and his spot should have lured her into acceptance. Even if somehow it hadn’t – he must confirm his suspicion.

A heartbeat. The insanity of it all... she really _was_ alive.

They stood there like that for a minute or two. The realization rammed into Diarmuid like the cursed spear stabbing into his chest yet again. 

Was what she said true, then? A living being... sent into the realm of the dead to give one soul the chance to deny the Underworld they're fated to? 

"Well?" The woman fractured the silence and let his hand drop to his waist as she gingerly pulled it from her chest. "I don't have much time to get you to contract with me."

Diarmuid tried to remain casual, to only show faint signs of interest in case this was some sort of deception.

"I still don't understand the proposal. So I do battle in a Grail War, but instead of a wish, I am to be released from Hades' doors? How is that possible? Where does this battle take place? In the Living world once again?" The woman heaved an exasperated sigh and glanced down to the end of the alleyway.

"It's not a Grail war. It's a tournament. I don't even know if there will be other souls from the past Grail wars participating. The details were sketchily given. And no, you won't be summoned to the living world. That has been halted, for the moment. The Throne of Heroes is damaged - it's why you are here. You were updated on that, right?" The woman cocked her head and gripped her wrist behind her back.

Diarmuid did get the update. He was trapped, stuck in the Grail after his physical form disintegrated into ash in his rage and he was believed to become an evil spirit.. His lancer's copy lingered in the Grail being cursed by all the evils of world—until what he considered to be a miracle—his release finally arrived. He was separated from the Grail by a bright shine, to return to the Throne and forego his tragic fate. But alas, the light shortly blinked out, and death's door called him back with even more despair. 

It engulfed him with flames and burned through him instead. Agony filled him worse than when he had stabbed himself and wished for them to be cursed; an ominous voice stated to him that his spirit core was tainted with the Evil's of the World, and there was only one place that it would go.

The Counter Force informed him then, that the Throne of Heroes was damaged from the corruption of Angra Mainyu (the soul he was trapped within the Grail with). Upon the destruction of the Grail and the sealed Gates, the pathway between the Throne of Heroes broke from the corrupted Grail; it opened a gaping hole resulting in the release of Heroic Spirits that the Counter Force rounded up. 

It was deeply disheartening to know that his rage had morphed into a true cruse merged with his base existence in the Throne- and then they thrust him into Hell's Lobby.

His attention returning to the present, Diarmuid replied to the impatient woman, "So we fight here, it matters not where the battlefield is. But the reward - you have yet to completely explain," he said with finality.

The woman lifted her shoulders in weary resignation.

"You won't go to hell, - that's your prize... but I will admit, they didn't say if that means you're going to be revived, or whatever. But I would think so – where else could you go? Limbo? A ghost? A servant again? Stay here? All options are still better than the last."

She kicked a stone and it tumbled, but Diarmuid didn’t avert his gaze from her; he tried to process the idea she had presented.

"But I will do my best to get those answers. I really _am_ on your side. I am sure there are bad people being given the same offer… but I digress, my intentions are good. I came here to save you, Diarmuid," she brought her hands to his face, and gently brushed his forehead as she moved that irritating strand of hair away from the bridge of his nose. He truly was a handsome man, despite the demonic looking eyes.

"You don't deserve such a tragic end. So I willingly took the chance to change it. But it is up to you whether you want to take that leap of faith with me."

She pulled away and smiled warmly.

"So tell me, will you fight for a wish, one last time?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has been my heart and joy. I know there is some canon divergence, and OC's, but I am as faithful as I can be to the characters of Fate. I have implored hours into this fic, and hope that in someway, readers shall stick around to see it unfold! 
> 
> Thank you to SaintKira for the help on fixing some of story holes and helping me adjust some ideas!
> 
> My beta and I are also in the process of editing old chapters to have the writing reflect my improvement.


	2. The Pact of two Souls

Diarmuid shook with anger, contempt, disbelief… fear? He did not know. Another opportunity, a final attempt to clear his honor.

So much doubt still filled the man's mind. There was more to this. However, he was unsure of what madness prompted such an offer. The woman seemed sincere enough; he couldn’t sense any hint of malice.

A living being who came here to free him from Hell. How kind – yet how preposterous. Why would a person do such a thing for him? Especially when she has never met him before? Too many layers. The Irishman wanted more time to consider his response… to pluck her brain of answers.

The woman looked over her shoulder and pressed her back firmly against the bricks behind her. Two shadows wisped by, carried by a dark, trailing breeze. If the woman could sink any further into the wall she would. Those shadows were trouble, as they drag souls at random to their final destination.

Cerulean eyes drifted to Diarmuid. The phantasms hovered here. Were they searching for him? Have they sensed life among the dead? With a cautious, subtle jerk of her chin, she pushed Diarmuid to the side, so he was no longer under the back door's lamp.

A fuzzy, almost electric sensation held Diarmuid's body frozen in the gloom. Confused by the sudden, involuntary cessation of movement, he flexed against the hold. A puzzled expression swamped his features: he's only able to dart his eyes to the woman, who brought a shaky finger to her lips.

The Lady angled her head in a simple, telling gesture. Diarmuid's eyes followed the movement to the transparent, ghostly dark figures as they bobbed in the mist. They whined a strange sound that sent a quaver down his spine. His body tensed, stilled by the echo in his hollow body. He had no control over himself, not a single muscle. Now, he was unable even a spared glance to the woman to see if she suffered in the same state. If he had a heartbeat, it would be suspended by the dread of these simple creatures, whose shrill ululations halted even a twitch of his eyelid.

The woman slowly crouched down and spied a crushed can. Dare she take the chance? That shadow will consume her and Diarmuid both—she was warned to avoid them completely.

They were Hades's advocates. The creatures of the netherworld that sucked the souls from the duplicated bodies at random, plunging them to their hellish fate. She was supposed to secure a decision before they detected her – she has failed. Hell is impatient for its souls, after all.

The woman gritted her teeth in frustration. She has the power to move multiple things at once, but they have to be in her eyesight or she has to have the location—and everything in it—photographically memorized. She regretted she didn’t take the precaution of running more reconnaissance.

The other issue at hand was more pressing. If she were to move the can, she must have it in her sight; but that meant loosening her hold on Diarmuid, which might easily betray his location to the malevolent ghouls. If that were to happen—she dismissed the uneasy thought. Needed to focus.

She peered straight ahead and kept Diarmuid in her peripheral vision; the mangled can was mostly in her view. She lifted her hand to guide the can up the wall and over the roof. Then; released her hold of it and prayed for success.

Unable to even blink and with dread, Diarmuid watched patiently as the woman mysteriously controlled a can and tossed it over the rooftop. He heard it clanging off in the distance—and the Shadows shrieked at the discordant sound.

The tension through Diarmuid's body released, and although he still couldn’t manipulate his limbs, he regained some modicum of control. The monsters glided quickly toward the dropped can as he glared at the strange, breathless woman pressed against the wall.

Diarmuid could almost taste the fear emanating from her. He attempted to move towards her— but a force kept him pinned in place. He clenched his jaw in aggravation. Why could he not move? Could he speak? Did he even wish to speak after he saw those creatures? The woman hushed him earlier—but who was she, to give him orders? His lips parted, but the woman sighed a long breath before he could say a word.

"Thank goodness… I think we're safe..." The telekinetic relaxed her grip on Diarmuid and tip-toed to the edge of the alley, and poked her head around the corner.

Diarmuid’s footsteps trailed behind her. His larged hand was placed on ‘her’ brick as he leaned over her; followed her gaze to the Shadows in the distance. The girl shrank lower, a little intimidated by his bulky figure as it towered over her. She shook off the disquiet from the unmistakable tension that bowed his muscles as she wondered—Who is that man? She hadn't realized a person lurked in the area. Had he followed them?

Well, it didn’t matter. One of the Shadows attached to said man. His scream was muffled as the darkness flowed like water, and flooded the stranger’s body. The man fell to his knees as he frantically clawed at his chest. His head arched back with a snap as a discolored shape escaped his mouth, swiftly swallowed by the Shadow. The body fell limply to the ground as it slowly disintegrated into dust; the second Shadow vacuumed the ensuing grotesque particles into itself. The Shadows then sped off as they evaporated into the air like steam.

The woman had been informed of those things. Hades's henchmen, mindless and empty. They were voids designed to swallow the souls of the damned.

She hadn’t thought she would witness their work so soon. Intuition told her that the Shadows were looking for them, but were too mindless to have figured out their location. Was it luck that someone had trailed them, or was close by to sustain those Ghoul's need of a soul? Well, that tragic end for them was fortunately avoided. _Thank goodness._ The psychic leaned back on her ankles and looked up at Diarmuid’s unreadable face.

"You okay?" The woman asked quietly. She could only imagine what must have been running through Diarmuid's mind. He just witnessed his own inevitable fate, one way or another.

The fallen Knight's stare vacant, he stepped around the frail woman and rested a hand against the wall. He felt the dread pulsing from the stranger in his final moments. Was he sure that he was ready to lay his burdens down without a fight? To allow the beast to harvest his spirit?

No, Diarmuid knew that he would not. He likely will regret being a Servant to someone again, even if not for the Grail. However, the affliction he'd have of not trying to change his fate if he rejected the chance to do battle once more was far greater. If he could genuinely escape the terror he just witnessed... the horror that shook his very existence…

"You're... truly trying to save me? You'll swear to it?" His voice was almost a whisper. To ask her to do such a thing, after everything he had been through…

Diarmuid knew it was foolish. A human's word means nothing. There must be a hidden agenda, and he won’t entrust his fate entirely to her. But he wanted to at least be true to himself and his old ways, before he diverged from the path he desperately clung to before both his deaths.

The woman sighed and pushed off her knees to stand.

"I promise, Diarmuid. However..." she placed her hand on his shoulder, "I am not expecting you to trust me right away. I know it's all weird and sudden. But -" The woman swallowed hard as she tried to find the right words as his troubled stare bore into her. She was positive that if she didn't have her abilities, she would be melting from the vulnerability in his color-shifting eyes.

"Little details were given. You could be right. This might be fool's gold. A trap of some sort. But if any of it is true—then I will do my best to save you."

Diarmuid sighed and almost turned into her palm. The warmth she emitted was deliciously inviting and comforting. He was nearly desperate for it. The agony of the dead as they clung onto the living. How shameful of him. He must distance himself if he meant to make a pact with her.

"You're quite difficult to understand," he said with a chuckle; she smiled ever-so-delicately.

"Just so you know," she shoved her hands into her pockets, uneasy from how cold he felt under her touch, and as her own shivers began to take place in the frigid temperature, "I am scared. Being in this place is unbearable. What the things in this place would do... to take a living soul and devour it..." She shuddered at the thought. 

"Anyway, I hope me telling you this shows that you can at least _try_ to trust me. But the tug from above is wheeling back around, so... we must decide."

Diarmuid inhaled and clicked his tongue. To have his soul ripped from him and sent to the Underworld to be tortured for eternity... Or fight alongside a strange woman who means well, but may be in over her head?

One thing is certain: those Shadows almost claimed him. They must have been behind the sudden cessation of all his voluntary movement. The contemplating Knight was frozen in place to enable those ghouls to consume him. But somehow—this woman managed to distract them. He was officially indebted to her for prolonging his stay here, instead of suffering Hell's labyrinth. 

Defeated, Diarmuid knelt to her.

"If I could have your name, miss," he looked up at her bewildered features and almost chuckled to himself, "I will swear on my honor as a Knight to fight by your side."

Baffled by Diarmuid as he suddenly knelt before her, the woman took her hand from her pocket and awkwardly stroked her cheek. She’d realized he was known for his chivalry as a Knight, but she’d expected him to have ditched that trait when it cost him his life. Twice. Regaining her composure, her lips kicked up at the corners in satisfaction.

"Yes, of course. Sorry. I'm Haley. Just... Haley."

“Then I, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, swear fealty to you as my Lady Haley, in this upcoming battle. Would you take me as your knight?"

Diarmuid's head was bowed, but he stole a glimpse at her face, glad as he saw her eyes were yet to lose their gleam. He concluded that she has not been bewitched. He had witnessed this once before. What were the chances he would be so lucky for it to be true yet again?

Haley absentmindedly continued to brush her finger across her cheek. Was all of this really necessary? It felt like he was proposing to her and man, that would be even more weird. Well, if it meant that much to him, she would play along for a moment or two.

"Yes, I uh,.. er... I, Haley take you as my Knight, Diarmuid, so we can fight for your... salvation?" She thought she answered him correctly, and he chuckled again. 

She felt her cheeks flush to her ears. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, My Lady. You don't sound certain on how to respond. I was slightly amused. My apologies." The grin on his face extended more than Diarmuid would like.

Haley mirrored his smile and crouched next to him.

"You're right, I don't have a clue. So I’ll start over," Haley said as she extended her hand. Her heart raced a bit, as she was glad that Diarmuid graciously took it in his.

"Let's kick butt together, so you can get the ending you deserve," she pulled him up with her and teetered, not realizing he still had such weight to him. His hand caught her back and steadied her; she sensed the blush on her cheeks deepen. 

"Which means you don't have to kneel at my feet. That's just weird." She laughed, as her shoulders relaxed.

"If that is what you desire, my Lady." The corner of Diarmuid's lip twitched, as he tried to refrain from smiling.

This would be strictly business, and he must not be captivated or led astray by her kindness. He had willed himself to fight once again; however, would be guarded. Fighting beside a woman was still troublesome. Her rosy-red cheeks left him feeling leery.

Diarmuid focused on her eyes as he watched to see if they clouded. If they ever turned blank, he would assume that his lovespot has taken effect. A frustrating thing that would be. There is no honor in fighting for the bewitched, and no point in continuing if she would be distracted... 

But as he took another glimpse at what appears to be crystals on her light skin, he can't help but be lost in their entrancing glitter.

"If I may, are you.. unaffected?" he asked, and brushed the tips of his fingers under the mole beneath his right eye. He was curious to know if his speculation is correct.

Another blunder. The Psychic had forgotten to mention that she was not easily spellbound by such things. Even a simple magus could cycle through his curse, but given his history, she hadn’t thought he was lucky enough to experience it.

"Nope. I have complete mental control, so my thoughts can't be warped by such things."

Relief swept the Knight's being like an ocean tide tumbling the shells from the sand. So it was true. He would not have to worry about his mystical face producing obstacles. Time and time again, he has attempted to avoid repeating such a disastrous end.

Though fate apparently thought his wishes were a joke, as it repeated the trauma of his past life into his second existence. It was unbearable, and left him in agony. He wondered—was it possible that other similar beings like her existed? 

"Well, now that we got that out of the way, I have to make it official," Haley said; her words broke his train of thought.

"And how do we do that, my Lady?"

Haley rummaged in her pocket and pulled out a small, silver, gleaming diamond. She held it out so Diarmuid could see it, as she rolled it in her fingers.

"This is a special, blessed gem," she nervously swayed back and forth on her ankles. "It'll link—or connect—your soul with mine. Are you ready?"

It was to be a strange, quick ritual. Haley's life force—and mana—would give Diarmuid's body a mightier version of itself. From what she knew, his current physical form was undeniably human. The fundamental difference was—nothing functioned within him. Just as his former Servant self, He it was a mere copy.

Diarmuid gave her a simple nod. He has shared his life force with another before, during the Grail war. He tried not to think of the bastards he had had to link himself with. They were partially responsible for his being here.

In an instant, his chest heaved, as he filled with a sudden infusion of rage. He tightly closed his eyes, fists clenched at his sides. This was hardly the time. His teeth ground together as he attempted to suppress the surge of emotions threatening to warp his control. What would the Lady think, if she saw him in that disgraceful fit? Would his newfound partner in this fight turn away?

Haley caught the onslaught of angered emotions and placed a calming hand on his balled-up fist. When his eyes fluttered open in surprise, she noticed the crimson color slowly pooled in waves in his orbs.

The woman mentally sighed. She had thought she saw the color of blood withering away, but it seemed he still had some inner demons she must help him face. It was the other reason she had accepted the challenge to save a soul of her choice. Some people just needed some guidance, and were worth helping. Diarmuid was one of them; she had convinced herself of that before coming here. And after meeting him in person, and getting a collective read on his inner emotions—she had proof enough of that from her abilities.

"We... will beat this, too." Haley spoke the words softly to reassure him, as her free hand delicately stroked the corner of his eye with the back of her knuckles. The diamond remained clenched in her palm. Curses were a daunting problem to tackle, but she dedicated most of her free time to relinquishing them. This would be no different.

It was as if her simple touch snapped him out of his irate thoughts and brought him back to reality. He took a cautious step back. What was it about this woman that was so... inviting? Compelling, almost. He placed his right hand over the one that had relaxed his fist.

"Thank you, my Lady. I am grateful." And Diarmuid truly was. He had not expected her to understand—let alone try to calm—the rage that still filled his heart. The curse planted within him had followed him all the way here. That awful time that had passed—trapped inside the grail with a truly evil being—has twisted it to the point of being unnameable. But at least the woman was still giving him a chance. 

Haley placed the diamond on the left of his chest, where his heart was frozen in time. She lightly pushed it, as it glittered and sank in. She held her breath, as her chest began to tighten. A flutter of light escaped from her body. She felt her life force slowly spill out of her and then emptied into him, through the jewels they now both have inside them.

The diamond she possessed inside of her steadied her in this realm, and now it has anchored Diarmuid's soul to hers. A connection that bound their fate together. Her arm shook aggressively, as she sensed the flow of Diarmuid’s curse as it melded with her spirit. She heaved, and attempted to exhale – but the breath became trapped in her lungs. She stilled and shoved his body back; she unlocked her magic and let it flow within their souls.

The curse calmed, and she panted heavily as she was able to breathe out again. It was a strong one – powered by this realm, and his unsettled emotions. Haley did not expect to get such a read on it before correctly using her magic. However, she still accepted him and let her resolve guide their connection back to reality. The glow faded and left a single, branded red triangle; it curled in loops to mark the triangular shape on the back of her left hand.

Diarmuid trembled, as hairs stood upright on his skin. That was – different. He had not expected the curse he held to infiltrate her. If he knew anything about curses and magic – he could have sworn that she took on part of the curse inside herself purposefully. Had he imagined seeing a blistering red bleed into the blue eyes that mesmerized him so?

What Diarmuid did know for certain – he had had a taste of her spirit when their souls had mingled together. Her soul was... soft. Gentle, like a flower patch that flowed in a calm breeze. Bewildered, he touched his chest and felt the steady beat of his heart. His breathing was labored, and dry. Were his lungs functioning again? He coughed, as if dust were clearing in his ribs. No, they were not.

"Well, I wasn't expecting that." Haley said as she scratched at the back of her head.

"Am I – alive?" The words blurted out. The Knight was confused beyond belief at what exactly this link means. If he were to judge by how detailed their connection felt – there was more to this than he had anticipated. His body now resembled how his Heroic Spirit form felt, but also was very different. He was unable to shift or break down into a spirit form, so that was already a divergence.

"Unfortunately, no. The heartbeat you feel is part of my life force making it throb." Haley shrugged a look over her shoulder. 

"But I'd prefer we talk about this elsewhere. We have somewhere to be, now, and what just happened is going to draw attention. So...?"

Diarmuid snapped into understanding, as he sensed an undeniably hostile presence approaching. He scooped her into his side, much to her surprise.

The Lady practically leapt out of his grip from the sudden movement. Haley was not accustomed to anyone—besides someone she was desperately trying to forget—touching her.

"You are correct, my Lady. My senses have been heightened, thanks to our bond." Yes, Diarmuid felt that as well. His interior was changing. The blandness he had felt has been replaced with magic. Her magic. He slowly sensed his strength return, and it exceeded his past limits. "There are definitely pursuers. Hang on to me."

Haley gave him a horrified look and clung to his waist. "What are you going to do!?" she squeaked. 

It was time for Diarmuid to evaluate the enhancements her magic has gifted his body. A devilish grin crooked his lips.

"We are going up, my Lady. I hope you do not fear heights."


	3. Dangerously Wasting Time

Afraid of heights? Haley loved them. 

Being hurled up in the air, under the armpit of a man she has only known in person for two hours? That felt almost impractical. Strange, even. 

Whatever the case may be—Diarmuid was quick, now that he was powered by her life force and magic. So much so, the psychic was unable to answer his query because of his rapid ascent. The woman barely had a second to breathe before the wind cracked past her and whipped her chocolate-colored hair in a frenzy.

Haley clutched his waist as tightly as her tiny hands permitted, and released a shameful, humiliating screech until they halted on the rooftop of Hell's Lobby. She exhaled as she fixed her side-bangs and flipped her locks over her shoulder to stream down her back. 

"Goodness!" Haley cackled, peering over the ledge at the three cloaked figures at the bottom of the ledge. "You sure gave them a show—huh?"

The figures scuttled about unnaturally and shimmied up the walls after them. With a quick pivot, Haley grabbed Diarmuid's arm and turned him toward another rooftop before he could engage with them. She saw the questioning look on his features, and leapt onto his back to curl her arms around his neck.

"We can't fight unless we are in the Arena! We'll be disqualified – Go, GO!"

Diarmuid growled under his breath. Blasted rules already holding him back from his duels! It was painfully familiar. The Knight hooked the Lady's legs around his waist and supported Haley under her knees as he obeyed her orders to immediately retreat to the neighboring rooftop. He looked keenly over his shoulder; much to his dismay, the figures have followed them.

"You are certain we cannot at least defend ourselves against such annoying pursuers?" Diarmuid grumbled, shifting up Haley’s weight as she slipped down his back. He observed their pursuers’ quickened pace before he took another calculated leap to a lower building's chimney.

"Positive. But there are always loopholes," Haley said, slapping into his shoulders from his abrupt stop. She craned her head over his arm and looked off into the distance.

"But first, we need a destination. Can you see it? The Arena should now be visible to you— there should be some sort of aura that only the dead can sense. See anything like that?"

If only Diarmuid could _focus_ , he wanted to tell her. He agilely dodged a sharp, silver projectile that whizzed past his Master's cheek. Five more dangerous objects narrowed towards them from the shadows; Diarmuid cursed under his breath.

The spear-man yearned for the familiar heft and power of his weapons. The filled with hope; flexed his fingers but was unable to summon his spears or swords. If he could not block the projectiles, he would have to continue nimbly dodging them, but it comes at the cost of not discovering the location Haley spoke of.

More of the gleaming stars spun toward them furiously. Haley hung off Diarmuid's back as her one hand gripped his shoulder. With her leg wrapped around his torso, her other hand and leg contorted in the wind as they continued their escape.

"Keep your eye out for the Arena! I got this, just don't let me fall!"

Haley flung her free hand across the air, as the star-tipped blades immediately spun in reverse and flailed through the sky to crash to the streets below. She felt Diarmuid's grasp on her leg tighten, holding her firmly in place as she deflected more of the stars into the bleak, shaded firmament.

The telekinetic had to find a different loophole. Just letting the stars fall isn't fighting back, but it was too close. The figures are closing in on them faster than she would like to admit. It doesn't help that she and Diarmuid are running blind about the darkened district, with no defined end point.

Diarmuid decided to take a gamble. He couldn't let his Lady—whom he had just sworn to protect—continue taking the lead. Weapon-less, he has to support this strange ability she has. He now witnessed enough of it to realize she is controlling objects that are within her sight.

If they cannot fight, they may use things as a protective barrier until he can see their end of the line. With his enhanced vision, he spied a rounded lake in a clearing, and the dropping point became clear.

Haley just needs to continue keeping them lengths away… which she is handling phenomenally. She may seem helpless and small, but her determination is inexorable. After another intense flick of her wrist, he took the opportunity to drop from the rooftops.

Haley turned her back and burrowed her body in between Diarmuid's shoulder blades to shield her face from the drastic drop. If only he could warn her before he takes a different strategy! Working with him is going to prove difficult, considering her lack of patience.

Demonic birds fluttered as they scattered away from their precipitate landing. Their exposed, bleached bones cracked as they flew away.

"The water, My Lady – can you control it?" Diarmuid asked, angling his face towards hers. She nodded as she wondered which plan was running through his mind. 

"If you would, use it as a barrier to mask our escape. It is not my desire to hide, but if we cannot fight, it would be best to create a diversion,” Diarmuid explained.

He felt her fidget. She planted her palms on his shoulder and metal plate and pushed upward to see over the tip of his wavy hair. He grinned at the gesture, and turned to the silhouettes; they are draped in a strange blanket which entirely hides their forms.

He cannot tell the shape of them, as the grey of their garments blends far too well in the baffling darkness of this realm. They are motionless and soundless in the gloaming. He can barely sense them. If his abilities hadn't been enhanced, he most likely would never have known of their approach.

"Signal when, Diarmuid." Haley whispered into his ear, as she slowly slid off his exterior. He jolted from the heat of her breath as it caressed the spot between his ear and neck.

The figures inched closer, as if attempting to analyze their defensive strategy. Diarmuid took a protective step forward, as the creatures before him spread out to box them in.

Haley watched their movements, matching them with her own precise backward steps. The further she is away from something, the more strain there is on her mind. She began to inch her way to the lake. Plus, the closer she is to the water – the less they can figure how she is manipulating the space around her. If she were in it, they would think it a spell or some other type of complicated magic.

Man, when did this simple contract become so difficult? A few more feet, and she can leap into the water. It has only a small fence around it… as a barrier to keep the dead from taking a swim, she guesses. This realm did an excellent job replicating the real world, further reminding the dead of what they have left behind.

 _Master, I don't know what they are plotting. Be careful. Are you able to hear me?_ Diarmuid calls in her mind. He had never much used this technique with his previous Master before, and was uncertain if it was available in this link as well.

Haley practically jumped out of her skin as she heard an unfamiliar voice in her consciousness. She has always concentrated on protecting her mind; she values her inner thoughts, and appreciates keeping them clear and private.

Having someone bouncing around in her brain made her flinch. It felt off… awkward. She didn't think the link between the two of them would literally replicate the same bonuses – or in her case – _inconveniences_ , of the pact between a Master and a Servant. 

She shook her head irritably as she responded. _Uh-huh, loud and clear._ She answered with as much hinted annoyance in her voice as possible.

 _Good. I shall now make a distraction. Once their attention is focused solely on me, head to the water._ Diarmuid wondered why Haley’s response seemed so hostile. Yet another thing to ask her about later.

Right now, his focus was on the seemingly chary enemy before him. They made no move to engage; instead, they merely assessed their next move.

Diarmuid made a sudden dash toward the figure in the center. The entities in the corners peeled off in separate directions – just as he had anticipated. It mattered not. He juddered to a halt and leaped to the left as the stars barreled towards him at all angles. One did nick his arm, and one split his cheek, but he paid little heed to the minor injuries. He was merely provoking them to follow his actions.

He faked them out again, charging the figure at his far left. It had locked its malevolent attention on Haley's dash for the lake. Diarmuid blocked the thing from reaching her, as it threw back more of those aggravating blades. This time, he arched backwards as they ruptured the earth at his feet. He retreated immediately as he heard the splash of his Master in the water.

Hearing the clangs of sharp steel sing behind her, Haley escaped to the water – a careful hop over the fence with a splash. The frigid liquid seeped into her boots. Thankfully, the figures didn't call Diarmuid's bluff, and primarily focused their attention on him; only one targeted her now. 

Haley flexed the water behind her. Diarmuid had withdrawn back to her position, heavily pursued by the covered figures. She couldn't make out their body composition. Were they also some sort of shadows from Hell? Or were they something else entirely? 

They closed in as Diarmuid landed beside her. She lifted her hands: pulled from behind, the water rushed underneath, before it flowed upward harshly before them – like a waterfall in reverse. It surged as the figures came to a halt. Haley sidestepped into Diarmuid, which allowed him to yank her into his protective clasp. She buckled over in his grasp, as he arched his legs and sprang backwards.

To Diarmuid's pleasant surprise, his Master was able to hold the water firmly in place; she made it tower ever higher as the figures tried to escape around it. She spread it wide – a cascading, deterring wall – to block them from detouring around. She even arched the wave backwards to pull the waterfall into an L-shape. It extended toward them, expanding the distance between them. 

He was impressed. Maybe she is more reliable on a battlefield than she had intimated. Diarmuid relied solely on her ability to keep them separated from their adversaries as his eyes glided across the makeshift districts. She had said there would be a signal as to where their true battle lies. He discerned nothing of the sort. 

The darkness spread on through mist and fog – No, there is a difference. Far off in the distance – a glowing beacon. It's the only spot in the replica town where the mist does not reach. A clearing that the darkness swirls around but does not penetrate. An abnormality in this realm that must be their destination.

Controlling the water becomes almost unbearable. Haley's eyes squinted, the piercing headache proving troublesome. Are they in the clear, finally? They had to have been. She no longer sensed their maleficent presence. 

She dropped the wave. To continue controlling it from this great distance would come at the substantial cost of losing her vision, or worse. The water spilled into the cement surrounding the lakefront and she nearly collapsed into Diarmuid’s arms. Hanging from his side was not the most comfortable position, either. 

The only way Diarmuid was able to focus on removing them from their current dangerous situation was by wedging his arm beneath Haley’s ribs; her arms and legs dangled awkwardly.

"Are you alright, my Lady?" Diarmuid asked. 

She dragged out a harsh breath. "Oh… so dandy."

Diarmuid stopped slowly in the middle of a street; it stretched far into a forest of pine that lined the sides. Dull street lamps continued down the path. He gently placed Haley on her feet and she wobbled. Worried, he placed a steady hand on her underbelly, and she patted his chest for support. His eyes caught on her overly-reddened fingers. Were her cheeks also always so pronounced in color? 

As Haley found her balance, she straightened out and gave Diarmuid a thumbs up. His lips twisted into a snicker. He watched as she leaned over to brush her hands over her boots and pulled the water out from them. The water bubbled above her palms and she then dashed it to the ground. Her control over such things was extremely interesting. He must learn how she does that. 

He coolly carded his fingers through his hair. "I commend you, Master, I hadn't expected you to wield such skill in battle." He almost laughed out loud at how her icy eyes glowered at him, and how she puffed out her chest to enhance her puny stature.

"I am a force to reckon with, get used to it," Haley snapped back. Thankfully, her headache has passed. She turned her head toward some traveling souls down a-ways. 

"Anyhow, do we know where we are going, yet?" she said, attention returned to ... whatever he is to be called. Thinking of him as a Servant just doesn't seem quite fitting. Almost disrespectful, honestly. And calling him undead but ‘dead company’ had a nasty taste to it. 

"I believe I do – we are headed to the far end of this road. There is a dent in the makeshift city. A spot where the darkness parts and shifts around some sort of building."

Satisfied, Haley agreed that is the most likely spot. An area outside of the reach of this realm could only be the fortress that protects the participants in the tournament. She furled and unfurled her toes in her boots. They were chilled, and felt slightly numb. She looked over the features of her companion and observed the cuts from those figures onslaught. She sighed as she sent a wave of magic to seal the wounds.

Diarmuid thanked her, and then knelt down so she could climb onto his back. She positioned herself comfortably and gripped his chest. She wondered if he could feel how unnatural his physical self was? She felt bad about it, but tried not to linger on the thought. He was no longer alive, after all. And he definitely must have gotten used to the change – given his experience of a copied form in a previous existence. 

With breathtaking speed, Diarmuid sprinted along the stretch of road. Haley clung to him, attempting but failing to find any kind of warmth from their physical closeness. Regrettably, she had lost her trench coat sometime, probably whilst they were bouncing on and off rooftops. She had expected Hell’s limbo to be hot, which is why she’d chosen such a casual romper. Frustratingly, it was the exact opposite; it didn't help that their speed made the cool air feel like ice slicing her skin.

A sudden wave of sleepiness overtook her. Maybe a nap was in order. She has put forth more energy than necessary. She was advised not to do such a thing until she was under the complete Divine protection. 

Forming the pact was the first step – as it shielded them from the Shadows randomly taking their souls. The second was to secure safety in the Arena. However, she continuously got side-tracked and was still in a realm designed by Hades himself. The strain was really starting to get to her. That was all it was... plus, she was soooo cold...

Diarmuid was surprised at how quiet Haley is during their dash to the clearing he had spotted. He had expected her to chat his head off about what to expect, or to pester him some more. She didn't seem to be the quiet type. 

He shot her a quick look. She appeared to be in a deep sleep. When had she gotten so tired? Was this the limit to her ability? No, something was wrong. He slowed, and glanced at Haley again. Her shivering became more and more apparent.

"Master, are you alright?" Diarmuid questioned concernedly. 

Haley mumbled something inaudible. He stopped immediately. 

"My Lady?" He leaned forward onto his knees and pulled her from his back. Her breaths are shallow and negligible. 

When did her body's temperature drop so alarmingly? He hadn't noticed, nor had he thought to pay attention. He had assumed she had some sort of magic that would protect her from the lack of a sun, or any of the living's luxuries. Especially since her attire was not suited for the blistering cold here. 

Troubled, he laid her gently on the pavement. He unbuckled the belt at his waist and tugged the tank off his person. It would not be much, but hopefully it will provide her with extra warmth once he bundles her in it. 

Delicately, Diarmuid crossed Haley’s small hands over her chest, and wrapped his top over her arms and under her back with a tight tie at the corner. He cradled her in his arms, and folded her slight form as tightly as possible to share and spread what little heat she had in her. He wished he had his own to share with her, but of course, he did not. Even with a new, steady heartbeat, no blood pumped through his veins.

He clenched his jaw. How could he be so careless? He knows these symptoms; she is suffering from hypothermia. Back in his hunting days, he’d made thorough preparations to avoid the common malady. This was dangerous. He needed to get to that tournament building as soon as possible. Surely, that place would be more suitable for the living, since it had called to them in the first place. 

Yes, he would chastise himself later for his foolishness. He needed to focus on arriving at their destination, before he lost his last chance at redemption… along with the woman who offered it to him. And honestly, he had no understanding which was now more important to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should the chapters be longer? Curious. Anyway, hopefully youre enjoying!


	4. The Sacred Market

Diarmuid continued his sprint to the only location he has never seen the mist swirl around. He begged to the Gods that this indeed was where they were supposed to go. As the frail woman in his arms was continuously losing the heat he so desired to have for his own.

She moaned in his arms, and mumbled slurred, unintelligible things. Her shivers became fully-fledged tremors. What was worse, was the strange strain. Her in this fatigued state seemed to waver the mana that was infused within him. So he forced himself to push onward, the target coming closer into view by the second. Upon reaching the manifesto of what he could only assume was some powerful magic, he took in the strange, but new place in the Underworld.

Yes, this was definitely where they were destined to honorably do battle. Mesmerized by the gigantic size of the round, ever-extending dome, Diarmuid slowed his pace. There had been a barrier placed around its magnificence. The glow of the building's radiant light illuminated the surrounding area. Behind the Arena were fields decorated with all sorts of different types of weaponry. A silver- and gold-plated skyscraper was positioned to the right of the coliseum. To the left, an infirmary caught his attention. 

The Knight raised a cautious foot to the shimmering force-field and his toes dipped through. Tightness in his chest releasing in relief, Diarmuid marched in as a gust of heat and light blasted his features. His eyes pressed shut, as it was quite an overwhelming change. It was almost grotesque to him, given how accustomed he was to the bitter cold and darkness.

Haley twitched in his arms, and he regained his composure. It was subtle, but her body was beginning to warm. Though, Diarmuid could not chance it, and would have her checked out at the infirmary he spotted. Following through with that solid plan, he casually strolled through the crowd, as the zone roared to life. There were tents with sellers calling for goods to be bought; food steamed from rolling carts. Most of the souls that pranced about had a radiating glow around them. They were definitely not of his kind. Worriedly, he seemed to have attracted the attention of a few passers-by. 

The Knight caught them leaning into each other, muttering hushed whispers. They drifted off quickly when they noticed he observed them, which only fully pressed his concern. A blaring voice rang across the domain, distracting him and the crowd: "Second call for all participants to make their way to registration."

Diarmuid counted the announcement; it repeated three times before it was silenced. In this time, he found he was met with plentiful stares, some horrified, some angry. He gritted his teeth. His intuition told him that he was not supposed to be in this area. Had he made a mistake? Was this not their objective? It did not help that he held a sick, unconscious woman in his arms while he himself was naked from the waist up. 

From the corner of his eye, Diarmuid noticed someone pointing at him. He quickened his pace. His perception told him he was unwanted here, and that medical bay was oh so close.

The protrusion of a single spear shoved flat in the air in front of him caused him to immediately halt. He followed the length of the weapon to an Observer and cringed. They were the warriors whose weapons shattered and berated the souls of any of the dead who stepped out of line. 

Diarmuid's throat bobbed. He had seen what these gladiators were capable of. Even the toughest demons and the dead cowered at their feet.

"You are misplaced," the spear-wielder said, his tone even. He moved his sharp eyes over to the woman cradled in the warrior’s arms. Before Diarmuid could explain, a second Observer came from behind and sliced at the back of his tibia; his knees instantly buckled. 

The pain, already unbearable, was intensified by the burning sensation that slithered into his veins. He hated the involuntary sound that escaped his lips as the throbbing in his legs increased. It was unbelievably painful.

"You are mistaken, she needs – “ Diarmuid attempted to clarify. He just needed them to listen. His Master still suffered from—

A crack against the back of his skull collapsed Diarmuid into the grass. His vision blurred as they ripped his Master from his grasp. There was an intense ringing in his head. He could tell there must be a split where the back of the weapon smacked into his skull. His eyelids slowly closed. This was definitely not how he'd imagined his day would go… he regretted it wholly as he slipped from consciousness.

Haley groaned. A pervasive burning sensation flamed in the pit of her knees. A headache swelled, as if she had been struck in the head. Had the blow woken her? She felt someone lifting her—was it Diarmuid? No, this grip lacked the spark of cold she felt every time she touched him. 

Azure eyes fluttered open. She was sprawled across a metal-plated shoulder. The armor attached to the breastplate of a man whose steel glove restrained her. She recognized the material and the emblem on the armor: an Observer was carrying her somewhere?

When her eyes casted upward, she almost shrieked. Diarmuid was insensate, his face planted in the turf. His back was exposed and a spear was aimed where his heart would be—

"STOP!" Haley hacked out as she struggled in the Observer’s grip. Her arms were wrapped in some strange, green leather, which restricted her movement. 

Was this the reason Diarmuid was topless? It didn't matter, all she really needed was her eyes to manipulate the things around her. It _was_ more strenuous… but if she didn't stop them...

The man was paralyzed, his spear held centimeters from Diarmuid's bare skin. His arms visibly shook, as he attempted to break the force preventing his weapon from penetrating its target.

The Observer carrying Haley came to a standstill. In a steady voice he demanded, "What is the meaning of this?".

"He's my...my...Servant!" she panted; her chest was tight. Even though she felt the heat slowly returning to her – she was fatigued. Adrenaline pumped up her vigorous plea. "Please, stop!".

The two Observers’ eyes met with unreadable expressions. 

"Servant?" the one aiming his weapon forced out, glaring at the woman who must have been responsible for his frozen stature. "Release me, witch!".

Haley flinched at the insult. She hadn't been disparaged in such a way for a long time. It was still toxic to her person. The word brought back a painful history she wished to forget. 

Frustrated, she strove to break free from the unyielding masculine grip, but some sort of strain had begun to drain her of her magic. The Observer who handled her peered down at her, and loosened his clasp. With a jerk of his knee, he impaled her in the gut – which sent her hurtling forward. She almost vomited pure bile, but kept her burning eyes trained on the man threatening her knight.

"Please! Please!..." she extended her hand to the fallen Diarmuid as the fabric that curled around her unraveled. He was just beyond her reach. "Don't hurt him!"

She had to hold that spear back until she could reason with them. She wasn't sure why they were attacking him, but she could hazard a guess. But when she pushed herself onto her elbows – as the pain in her stomach finally receded – she realized that would not be possible. These two mediators were not interested in negotiation; Haley sensed their intent to kill both of them surging through her.

The Observer had had enough of the strange duo. The term "Servant" meant nothing to him. A strange thing to spew in such a situation. He cared not for whatever sick relationship they held. He thought that these two might possibly be from the tournament, and if they were – they both had to be eliminated. 

He had miscalculated. The woman appeared injured and the energy around her seemed pure… like that of the Games’ onlookers. However, they did not possess the magic he was able to ascertain from her, and she was working that skill on his co-worker. 

The crowd that had begun swarming around them served to make matters worse. These two were dangerous to the common folk who had descended from the Heavens to watch the dead struggle foolishly for some ridiculous reward. He readied his ax. If he were to slay the woman, whatever spell she has cast on his co-worker would diminish, allowing him to finish off her slave.

Before anyone could blink, he swung his ax at the woman, who rolled out from underneath it. Strands of her hair fell beneath the blade. She was quick, this one. His eyes shifted upward, as he noted that his comrade remained unable to strike the bastard at his feet. 

He snarled as he brought the ax down again with the aim of slashing her leg clean off, but his violent movement was halted halfway down. How was it possible – the woman hadn't moved! She was barely able to support herself on her knees! The Observer staggered, and put all of his weight into his next motion. He would have her damned head.

"Hang on there, Soldiers!". A drifting voice sang through the crowd. 

The Observer's attention shifted ever so slightly toward the familiar voice, and Haley immediately took advantage of the small opening. Carefully, her hand brushed to the side; she controlled the Observer's spear that threatened Diarmuid’s soul. It spun off into the distance and impaled a fence. 

The Observer's eyes widened in disbelief. She manipulated the air around Diarmuid to drag him into herself and clutched him tight, as she attempted to heal the swelling gash on the back of his head. She glared angrily at the two Observers. 

The one who had held her was using all of his weight to break through her control, and her shifting attention ceded him ground. The strain brought her close to collapse as her energy ran out. In all this confusion, a gentleman blanketed in a white cloak with billowing sleeves waved for their attention. 

He appeared through the crowd and steps… no, he glided in front of her. Desperate, her head sank.

"Please… don't – “ she softly wailed, as she pleaded for this new person to let them be. She was drained. Her body had barely regained the heat she had lost. Plus, this man was ridiculously powerful. The energy and magic that leaked from him overwhelmed all her senses. If he were to join the Observers – she would definitely lose. 

However, when she looked up to him to beg for their lives, she saw the gentlest smile covered his face. His lilac eyes glistened with compassion.

"Fear not, young Lady, you are safe in my presence." She found no deceit in his amiable words and almost folded in on herself or Diarmuid. Whichever. She felt some of her magic start to replenish itself as well. Hopefully, Diarmuid was on the receiving end of that mana, too.

"What is the meaning of this, Merlin?" The Observer aggressively pointed his ax at the Magician before them. 

Haley recognized that name. The mastery of magic and skill that spilled from this man before her now made sense. What the hell – literally, _Hell_ – was he doing in this place?

"Could you not tell? They are valuable participants in our grand tournament," he leaned down and pulled Haley's glove from her forearm to reveal the single Command Seal.

"I would prefer you not slaughter my participants before they even see the stage." 

His participants? Merlin was behind this facade of a battle? Something did not sit right in Haley's stomach when she heard that. She sensed the merest hint of deception in his words. It didn't matter – if he could get them out of this mess, she would be in his debt. Diarmuid stirred in her arms and straightened himself in her lap.

"Oh... thank goodness you're alright..." Haley said softly as she eased against his back. She watched as he slowly slid away from her. He crossed his legs and rubbed the back of his head.

"That does not matter. They are not welcome in the market. We have orders to kill any Forsaken and even their Detainer if they step out of bounds." The Observer took a threatening step closer.

Merlin waved his hand dismissively.

"That may be true… however," he turned as he gestured to the weakened players at his boots, "they obviously entered in no condition to cause any issues. Clearly there was a misunderstanding somewhere that we can resolve if given the chance." 

The master mage smirked as he bent down to the disastrous looking pair. "Tell us, what reason do you have to stroll in the Sacred Market?".

Haley looked to Diarmuid for an answer, since she had been comatose until coming into this ‘Sacred Market’. He gave her an uneasy glance before he answered.

"My Master had been suffering from hypothermia, after she succumbed to the temperature outside this... sanctuary. I only brought her to this location because I saw the infirmary. I must have been mistaken," he bows his head deep into his chest. "I apologize greatly for our intrusion. I truly meant no harm and regret my ignorance."

Haley furrowed her brow in a frown. She had no idea she had involuntarily caused so much trouble for herself (and definitely for him). She really sucked at this. If these past few hours were any indication of what their battles would look like… they might as well forfeit now and save themselves the embarrassment.

"Well, there you have it," Merlin chuckled as a satisfied grin widened his lips. 

"An innocent blunder, wouldn't you say? I am sure if you were unfamiliar with the terrain you both would have done the same thing, under the circumstances. And I believe the show you've created will cause you much more trouble than letting these two go." His mischievous grin stretched further across his face.

Both Observers clenched their jaws and exchanged aggravated glances.

"This. One. Time. If we ever see these two ingrates again, we will have their souls." The ax man jerked his chin to signal his partner to follow. "Rid us of them immediately," he growled, moving off to dispel the crowd as his comrade retrieved his spear.

Diarmuid sighed loudly, cringing at the sudden pain under his knees when he adjusted his legs. Up until now, the pain had been negated by the direness of their situation. He wondered if such a wound could be healed by his Master? She had taken exemplary care of the wound that had split his scalp. 

Before all of this madness was brought forth, it was told that Observers were the second-highest authority in the realm and their blows are almost impossible to heal unless a superior being willed it. Given the severity of his injury, he now would be useless in battle. 

However, this mage before him emanated magical energy that felt centuries old. He also deterred the Observers with a commanding authority. However shameful, it could not be terrible to ask for his assistance once more. But first, he must thank him for rescuing them.

"Sir Merlin," Diarmuid bowed his head. "We thank you for your generosity."

Haley shakily forced herself upright and wobbled to her feet.

"Yeah, we really owe you one. Seriously, thanks." She said as she flexed her fingers and toes, trying to dispel the numbness and regain her fine motor coordination.

Amazingly, she felt _right_ again. There was definitely a magic or a power at hand here in the atmosphere that made her body feel at ease. Whatever it was – it aided in her recovery.

Merlin nodded as he adjusted himself from his leaning position. He held out the young lady's glove.

"It was my pleasure. But I do hope you understand that I won't be able to intervene if you mess up like this again." 

The young woman accepted her glove and slid it over her wrist, up to her elbow. "I understand. It was my fault," Haley sighed.

She propped her right arm with her left hand. "I haven't explained everything yet, and it has been costly – not just to us, but I assume to you, as well. I really am sorry." She actually bowed forward, to her own surprise. Haley almost shook her head in annoyance – Diarmuid’s old-fashioned ways were rubbing off on her. 

Merlin chuckled. "Raise your heads, it's quite alright. I just happened to be in the area, and felt it necessary to lend a hand. You both seemed innocent enough. Quite daring you were, young lady, challenging Observers, especially in that state."

Haley chuckled awkwardly. She couldn't quite agree that "daring" was the right word. It was downright outrageous and dangerous. Those Observers had the influence to change her fate if they so wished. 

They didn't seem like they would send her to Hell this time; but if they truly wanted to, they could. And if she were destined for Heaven when she died – they could easily rearrange that. She didn't wish to entertain that unpleasant thought.

"Tell me, I am curious: what possessed you to do such a thing?" Merlin asked, genuinely fascinated. 

He had not planned to intervene in their skirmish until the brave – yet foolish – young lady had used her interesting power to hold back their aggressors and plead for her "Servant", as she called him. The term associated between Master and Servant from the Grail Wars was one he had come to know. 

Clearly, whomever had chosen her to become a Detainer refrained from giving her the proper terminology, which piqued his interest. This pairing was quite interesting indeed.

Diarmuid wondered at her as well. He had blacked out from the harsh blow of the Observer. He hadn't a clue how Haley ended up embracing him, nor that she had ‘challenged’ – as Merlin put it – the Observers for his wellbeing. 

He had no intention of having faith in his new Master, given his past. In fact, relying heavily on her has been infuriating. Nevertheless, was she honestly concerned for his safety? He had to know, he had to understand if he had any chance of actually meeting a better end. Maybe this will in turn deepen their pact… the thought had not even crossed his mind until now. He watched as she rocked back and forth on her ankles nervously and hummed.

"Because... I promised him."

Merlin and Diarmuid traded a look, and Merlin raised a brow.

"You promised to fight the Observers for your Forsaken?..." He gave Diarmuid another strange glance. Maybe they were more interesting than he had anticipated. How did he convince her to do such a thing?

"No!" Haley regretted she tried to answer his question. But his aura messed with her composure. Her magic felt like she should be put at ease when near him. But her mind told her that it is a false sense of security; the emotions were conflicting. It made her feel extremely displaced. Was this part of the magic of the great Merlin? 

Yikes. She hoped she could stay on his good side by graciously answering his question, despite how uneasy it made her. It was as if she were showing her vulnerability. And that was definitely a problem.

"I promised I would save him so..." she glanced sideways at Diarmuid's perplexed face before she shrugged, "… I did what I could. However pathetic it felt begging them to let us go."

Diarmuid leaned back, fingers lacing into the dirt. That promise she made to save him – he had believed it only extended in the Arena. He hadn't imagined she would endanger herself for him. It troubled him. He knew not what to think about it.

Merlin laughed wholeheartedly. "You really are more interesting than you let on. Yes, I think I did the good thing by stepping in." He lifted a finger to wipe a tear from his eye.

He continued, "Well, come now. We have overstayed our welcome. You two will certainly catch more attention, given one of you is exposed and oddly red. You do plan on dealing with that, young lady?"

"We're working on it." With a roll of her eyes, she huffed, then realized that he is still lodged in the dirt. "Diarmuid, are you going to stay on the ground, or...?"

Diarmuid adjusted onto his rear and gestured at his knees.

"Unfortunately, I am crippled. My Lady, are you unable to heal the wounds from the Observers?". He knew the answer. However, instead of directly petitioning Merlin's already gracious efforts – he figured that if he hinted that he was injured beyond his Master's care, Merlin would extend his good graces once more.

"Oh gosh, I'm sorry! I didn't know!" Haley hung her head apologetically. She didn't see any wounds – and she only learned of the head injury when she felt the irritated skin under her hand as she held Diarmuid. "Where is it? Let me try!"

"It's alright, My Lady. I assumed as much. In the crease of my knees – the blade of the spear ran deep. If you would – “ 

Merlin placed a considerate hand on Haley's shoulder and slipped past her. He knelt before the Forsaken and hovered his hand over his knees. The gashes were deep – they almost sliced through the bone. Replica body or not, the damage was still troublesome. 

Thankfully, the Observer had some restraint. Most likely the young lady would not be able to heal such a wound. They were extremely fortunate that he had strolled along, otherwise their fight would have been over before they even met the battlefield. 

No Healer would aid them before the tournament had begun, especially not for a Forsaken who had tangled with an Observer. No matter; this was simple for him to handle. He let his magic flow… it was a gentle hum under his fingertips. The underside of his limbs glowed, and the wounds sealed themselves. Content, he stood and gave Haley a wink. She sighed with delight. It was a cute expression.

Relief coursed through Diarmuid's limbs. The muscles finally relaxed, and the burning that spread down his calves calmed. He nearly moaned in delight; holding back the incessant discomfort was as much a burden as the wound itself. 

He made sure to stay clear of creating any commotions whilst occupying Hell's Lobby, as he’s known the damage from facing the Observers was nothing short of pure agony. To think, his Master had attempted to go toe-to-toe with them. For _him_ , no less. She certainly was a mystery to go to such lengths after only being contracted with him for an eventful few hours. Could she actually be trusted?

No, he could not allow himself to go down that path again. Putting all of his faith into serving a Lord had sullied his honor, and situated him here after he had raged. He had to remember that. With that pit of regret still haunting him, he looked to the man who had twice helped him.

"Good sir, you have my thanks," Diarmuid said as he bowed his head, before finally raising himself from the ground.

"It was sincerely my pleasure. Now…" Merlin strolled past the weird, oddly polite Forsaken – he must have been a nobleman or something in his past life – “…it would be best you follow me to the Arena before you two attract any more trouble."

"Follow you? Were you headed to the Stadium too, Merlin?" Haley asked, eyeing Diarmuid as he found his shirt and pulled it over his bare torso.

"Indeed I was! I have high expectations of this spectacle. Especially after the show you two put on! I am excited to see what the other competitors have tucked up their sleeves." 

He continued onward, looking over his shoulder. The flower tucked in his hair shifted as he checked to see if they were following. "Be advised, you both will most likely be late to the opening ceremony, which will deduct points."

"Ehhhh...?!" Haley stopped dead in her tracks, and gazed between Diarmuid and Merlin. "No way!"

"Pardon my ignorance, but lose points?" Diarmuid enquired. He patted Haley's back to urge her forward.

Merlin sighed emphatically. How much has the young Lady actually told her Forsaken? He seemed heavily misinformed.

"Yes, there is a point structure. It is to decide who moves into the actual one-on-one fights in the second round of the tournament. It will also build reputation, help aid in battle pairings, among other things."

Diarmuid glanced to Haley for confirmation and she nodded. So there are stages in this battle ring. Interesting. If only his Lady and himself had had the opportunity to discuss such important details. All of these interruptions and delays were most unfortunate. They must look like fools to this Merlin character. 

He certainly had an interesting aura about him. Not only was he a powerful presence – trumping any he has ever had the pleasure of dealing with before – but he also had a superior aura about him.

"Well, it won't be too detrimental. It was expected that there would be those who would get lost, or simply be late or no-shows. So do not worry, young lady. You and your Forsaken will still have a chance," Merlin added, as they exited the market and made their way down a small path to the Arena. 

Another blaring announcement broke through the air: a final call to all competitors. Yes, these two were definitely going to be late.

Haley drew a long breath. It wasn't necessarily the deductions that really bothered her. It was just the fact this made them look extremely bad. Not only did they almost break the, "No fights outside the Stadium" rule, (in their own defense, but she digressed) but they had trespassed in the Sacred Market, and defended themselves against the Observers. That should have ended with their disqualification, her execution, and Diarmuid on a one-way ferry ticket to Hell.

Thankfully, Merlin had stepped in and allowed their continued participation, or else they would have been screwed. Man, was this that E luck crap that the Grail War used to spew about? Because it sure as hell felt like it. 

There was so much she still had to tell Diarmuid, too, and it embarrassingly showed. Too bad they wouldn’t have a chance to talk, since they have to attend some opening ceremony. This was grander than anticipated. She had to make sure they discussed it all as soon as that was finished, or else they would continue to be in an obnoxious amount of trouble.

"Well, we are here, young lady. As you can hear – “ the sound of a crowd cheering, and an anthem being played echoed through the entrance – “the ceremony has begun. Enter those double doors, and speak with the clerk. They will direct you to where you and your Forsaken shall go."

Haley offered the jolly man her hand. "Seriously, thank you, Merlin. I don't think we'd be here without you. Your kindness is extremely appreciated."

Merlin smiled at her and took her hand lightly in his for a single shake. She really was a rather sweet thing. He sensed the barriers she put over herself. Such complicated magic on such a young girl! He wondered what warranted such a troubled shade of her true demeanor? 

Her magic even replenished quickly, after the Observer had attempted to divest her of it. And then there was the telekinesis she had hidden in her arsenal. She was surely going to be fun to watch whilst she supported her Forsaken. 

He glimpsed at the figure close behind her, his chest bent in a bow to silently add his thanks. Truly, an interesting pair indeed. Of all the participants he has spied, some possessed a refreshing purity, and these two were no exception. He wondered what the man behind her had done to have ended up in this situation. He was clearly masking a curse – other than that strange mole – inside him. The crimson in his eyes said it all. 

Alas, none of this was his concern. He was to hold no judgement on any of the participants. Or at least, he would try. There was only so much he could withstand. But these two weren't awful in the slightest.

"It has been my pleasure; I wish you two luck," he gave them a nod and pivoted on his toes. "Farewell!" With a single motion, the hair that draped down to his ankles blew majestically in the wind as he disappeared in a flurry of bright purple speckles.

"Oh, I wasn't expecting him to just disappear. But he does seem pretty flashy, huh, Diarmuid?" Haley giggled; the feeling of ease lingered after Merlin's departure.

Diarmuid tilted his head to return her smile. The strand of hair that hovered over his face bobbed to the side. "Truly, I will forever be grateful for his assistance."

The crowd roared again in the background, and Haley released a calming breath. 

She had gone from freezing to sweating profusely, thanks to the nervousness that came over her. This was happening. She looked to Diarmuid, who nodded once in wordless understanding.

Finally, they had arrived. She turned to the huge double doors that awaited their entry. The Dome that arched over them was large enough to fit seven – maybe even eight – football fields inside it. She wondered if Diarmuid knew what a football field even was. 

But, just like that Merlin character – it was flashy, decorated with jewels and crystals that would make any man the richest person in existence. It was here that she would help Diarmuid fight for the ending he deserved, instead of what fate had handed to him. 

She just hoped she was strong enough to really deliver to him the honorable fight he so desperately wanted: to break the curse that was tearing away at him; and of course, there was also her reward. But that was not as important as helping the man that stood before her.

Diarmuid broke their silence as he gazed at the stadium before him. "My Lady, I must know… are you sure about this?"

"Giving me a shot to back out, huh?" He didn’t reply, merely turned his head as he awaited her response.

"You're so troublesome." She stepped to his side once more, her pinkie brushing lightly against his. "No chance, though." She matched his determined expression with one of her own.

"Let's do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many things happened in this chapter and I introduced a character I hadn't even expected to write into the story. But he just makes so much in the sense of things. But finnaallly, we are getting to the main focus, the battle royale. Which is going to be a pain in the ass to write haha! But I cannot wait. The dynamic between Haley and Diarmuid is definitely going to be challenged in the next couple of chapters. It's going to be fun! I hope you all are enjoying the story!


	5. The Dome's Arena

A single map. A Guidebook. A roster of potential Sponsors. Underworld Currency. That was all they received from the woman behind the heavily-guarded counter. Hell, the entire room was filled with Observers. Haley was used to people having as little trust as herself, but wasn’t this a tad overboard?

Well, it _was_ an arena of the dead waiting to be sentenced to Hell, accompanied—and powered by—living Mages with abilities the underworld did not have beforehand. Lax security was a bad idea, in retrospect. 

She eyed her so-called ‘Forsaken’; he was as quiet as ever. Yeah– she was not going to call him that. It sounded so degrading: by comparison, the Master-Servant relationship that she despised from the Grail Wars was almost music to her ears. 

She still hadn't a clue what to call him, though. A job? A companion? Definitely not a friend. He didn't even know her. She knew more about him and his entire life-and second life-than he knew what she’d had for breakfast this morning.

Their collaboration was really difficult to understand, but she hoped she would figure it all out the more they worked together. After all, she did promise to save him. That meant getting into that head of his and unwrapping all the layers that shielded his true self… one protective measure they had in common.

When the woman had given them their necessities, an Observer had approached from the corner and instructed Diarmuid to put out his arms. With a, "Yes sir," he’d obediently complied. 

The heavily armored man had slapped cuffs over his wrists and snapped them tightly. Diarmuid had flinched from the pressure, realising there was a spell woven into it that made his wrists burn. The Observer had attached a chain to it and hooked it on his belt with a disgruntled hitch in his throat.

"Is that really necessary?" Haley had blurted, her index finger rapidly tapping her arm in obvious dissatisfaction. "He's not dangerous."

"It's alright, my Lady; please allow them to take the precautions they believe fit," Diarmuid had interposed before she could have said anything to infuriate the man with the demonic glare. While he did appreciate her contempt for how they treated him– technically, he _was_ dangerous.

Had he weapons– he could easily slay the entire room. Even without, Haley was supplying him with plentiful amounts of mana that would allow him to easily snap bones. The question was whether he would do so, but it mattered not. These warriors would not take that risk and he understood that.

"Better listen to the Forsaken, It seems to understand your situation better than you do," the man sneered.

Haley opened her mouth to retort but a voice infiltrated her mind again.

_Don't, My Lady. He is trying to provoke._

She shuddered. Was this the time to tell him she really didn’t like it when he communicated with her telepathically? She debated putting a block on her mind, but the advantages of their thought-transference outweighed her distaste. She would have to learn to get used to it. This line of communication would be necessary when they are on the battlefield, or in situations like this. 

Instead of answering him back, she waited to be obscured from the Observer's eye before she gestured a single finger at him. She noticed Diarmuid caught the action and there was even a hint of a smile as his lip twitched. When she went to depart, a hand found her shoulder and spun her around.

"You will be coming with me," the woman stated simply as she fixed the sleeve of her blazer.

Haley looked over her shoulder. Diarmuid and the Observer were headed toward a single hallway that stretched to the back of the Dome at the right corner of the lobby. If she angled her head, she could see a couple of doors lining the narrow passage there. Situations like this made their link important. She couldn't believe she had debated utilising it…

The woman spoke again.

"Standard procedure," she said, looking at a stack of papers she held in her hands. "Haley, was it?"

"Yeah... where are they taking him?" she asked, her head leaning further back to see them. His crimson eyes briefly met hers before they disappeared into the hallway.

"They will be giving It a uniform, and a tracker. Then It'll be ushered to the platform on the stadium until the ceremony is over," she plainly stated before she turned her back.

"As for you, you are to be escorted to the Detainer bleachers. You will be given some refreshments to hold you over. Then they will call your name and your Forsaken to introduce you to the audience, so we must hurry." 

She divulged nothing more as she started walking away, her long upwardly-fashioned hair bouncing at her back. The provocative way she walked attracted some leers. Maybe it was the skirt. Haley shook her head. 

Was this really okay? She looked back once more. If Diarmuid was in some sort of trouble, she was certain his voice would beam into her head again. Not that it mattered; she had to stop being so jumpy and let them do whatever they needed to get the ball rolling for them. Plus, the idea of food and drink was not to be ignored. She was parched. 

With that in mind, she quickened her pace to catch up with the woman who—even in those heels— had created some distance while Haley was lost in thought.

\---------------------------

The Observer used the chain to yank Diarmuid onto his knees. The man lacked the height that the Irish warrior was blessed with. Diarmuid kept his focus on the white of the walls that lined the small room. He then watched as the man grabbed a syringe from a rolling cart and jammed a needle as thick as his three fingers between his shoulder blades. He injected a thick liquid that hardened under his skin.

"Might I ask what this is?" Diarmuid queried as he rolled his shoulders reflexively. A strange stinging sensation radiated beneath his skin.

"Tracker. Turn back to me, completely. Then lean forward."

Diarmuid obliged, bringing his face to his knees. He felt the man tentatively tapping the lump in his back, massaging it further into his muscle. The man glided his hand over it, smoothing in the substance; when he was content with his efforts, he jerked him back onto his feet. Was all of this obnoxious yanking really necessary, Diarmuid wondered? This man must really hate his job.

He wanted to blame him- but in the end, could not. He most likely had to deal with some shady characters today and would have to do so for however long these death matches went on for. 

The Observer began tearing Diarmuid's clothes from him. He yanked off his belts and stripped him of his boots and his tank. He tossed the armor into a pile of other random accessories that must have belonged to the other souls.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Diarmuid was completely exposed. He eyed the scar on his chest where he’d been speared through with the final blow, and wondered what it must look like at the blade’s exit site. He clenched his fists at his side, jamming his eyes shut as his chest tightened. 

He tried not to think of that night, as the memory yet tortures his soul. The very core of his curse had centered around that cataclysmic event that he wished he could forget. Damned humans, and their precious Grail that they fought for with obscene maliciousness. 

He had searched the pits of Hell hoping to find one—at least _one_ — of those vile perpetrators, to give them what they deserved, but he had come up empty. They were lucky– if they would have crossed his path again, they would have forever regretted cheating him.

A pull on his chain snapped him out of his internal rage. The Observer unlocked a single cuff from Diarmuid’s wrist, releasing the pressure and intensifying a burning that he hadn't previously realized, due to his seething. Had the Observer noticed?

Diarmuid shot him a look. No, it did not seem so… the man was hunched over as he grabbed something from under the cart. The Observer ordered him to dress in the orange jumper he had flung at Diarmuid’s feet. Setting his wrath aside (something he _must_ control or it would cost him dearly), he donned the thin fabric and tied the boots over the pant leggings. He was not used to such loose attire.

Once he’d finished, the Observer clamped the cuff back over his wrist and dragged him out of the room.

"Alright, get movin'." The Observer pushed Diarmuid forward and latched the door closed behind him. 

They both halted when they heard a commotion coming from the counter. Someone was roaring about the point loss due to being so late. They vocally rampaged about the vague instructions on how to get here, which had caused their tardiness. 

Diarmuid attempted to look, glad he was not the only one who had got the shaft on how to arrive. 

The man shoved his head forward. "Move." 

Further down the rest of the hall, the man fumbled with a ring of keys and unlocked the double doors. He pushed on the bar, opening the doors; something that mimicked sunlight burst through them. 

When was the last time he had seen the sun? To be fair, it was a fantastic replica, similar to his current body. An illusion created by the Gods or Magus to make this secluded spot natural to the living, he assumed. His Master had already dealt poorly with the Underworld’s conditions. 

Once the shine faded, he gawked at the size of the arena. Never in his life had he seen anything so grand. This was not an Arena– it was a coliseum. It stretched so far back, and was decorated with a track of different sorts of... weaponry? There were objects along the field that he did not recognize, though there were some he did. Like the blades that swung and twisted from a metal rod on a platform. Multiple rings with fire blazing through them. Numerous tall, spiked walls. 

Was this something he was to do? He was certainly unfamiliar with a lot of things on this terrain. He debated about being grateful that he had a Master—whom he hoped knew significantly more of what was on the field—or being troubled that he signed up for this. Time alone would tell.

With another shove, the Observer rushed him forward to a stand seating at least five hundred men and women dressed as he was. He eyed a plentiful amount of the not-so-human looking figures amongst them. There were three Observers for every second row of Dead that he was to join. 

He shifted his eyes around. Above them were what he remembered —from his summoning in the modern era— as "Television screens". Flashing about was the picture of the center of the stage, where a man rallied and stoked the crowd. There were innumerable people on the sidelines that bordered the battlefield. 

At the edge of their sitting arrangement–in the Arena itself–also sat a pad with a bunch of people he could not make out. His pact with his Master indicated that was her location. He focused on the screens that shifted imagery of the Arena around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the other competitors’ identities, but was that wish was left unfulfilled. 

His Observer helped him to forge their way through some of the Dead to find a spot to sit. Shoving him onto his rear, he unlatched the chain, but left him cuffed. Snickering at him, he commanded Diarmuid to stay put and went off to meet with the other Observers. 

Sighing, Diarmuid leaned back, careful not to tap the foot that was far too close to his ear. It was so loud, and unbearable here. The man at the center was full of energy that Diarmuid simply lacked. 

He attempted to listen to what the announcer had to say, but none of it seemed important at this point. Instead, he tried to focus. He decided to check in with his Master, hoping their connection wouldn't be severed here.

 _My Lady, are you here? Are you alright?_ A brief moment of mental silence troubled him until an apparently annoyed, high-pitched voice answered back.

_Just peachy... how 'bout you?_

_Adjusting. Is it safe to presume you are across from us in that gathered group under the onlookers?_

_Uh-huh. Interesting bunch. Which blotch of orange are you?_

_Um. The one to the far left?_ His Master's laugh bounced in his head. He was still getting used to her extra high timbre, but he was not prepared for her burst of laughter. He did not understand how what he’d said was humorous.

_Anyhow, I've been reading the manual – since this guy talking is only here to pump the crowd. There are a ton of stages of this tournament. There will be rankings to separate us. It's not just going to be you fighting the other For—I uh—mean, Dead. Whatever. You'll also be competing in other battles, like the field right now. It's called an ‘obstacle course’. Are you familiar with what that is?_

_I know enough from information supplied from the Grail._

_Oh, that’s great! I forgot the Grail does that._

Diarmuid eyeballed the terrain once more. He would take this time analyzing it. Some of those obstacles would be a challenge for many. A troubling thought crossed his mind. 

_Master, are you to challenge that with me?_ He worried for her safety. She was so petite in structure. Surely her tiny frame would allow her to be agile, but how would she get herself up that wall, or across that large body of water with the round pads?

_Eh? No, not that one, anyway. From what that Announcer said, we are to support our um, Servants from the outer perimeters. I am allowed to follow you along the way, as long as I stay off the course._

Diarmuid sighed in relief. She was not to risk herself on these contraptions, that was good. He rested his chin on his fist, elbows propped on his thighs, his chains clicking. He was genuinely worried for her for a moment. Troubled, he decided that it was not good nor bad that he cared slightly for her well-being. It was important, if he were to survive this death game. 

He wondered if she had realized that they would be among so many taking part in this tournament. He was about to ask her when the Arena erupted with music. It startled him and the dead guy next to him, who bumped Diarmuid’s shoulder in surprise.

"Welcome! We hope you have been entertained by the lovely Odonna! Please thank him for his generous show! However, it is now time to get the show started!" 

A woman's voice blared throughout the Arena. The sun winked out, and the area completely darkened. Within seconds, the floodlights around the stadium blinked on and were trained to focus on the center of the Arena. 

A floating bleacher appeared there, lined with eight mighty supernatural beings and DemiGods. A woman shimmered into existence, her short hair bubbling on her shoulders. 

She spoke into the microphone: 

"These are the Lovely, Generous Hosts and Designers behind this magnificent competition! The spotlight shall glow over whom I introduce, so in order-" She singled them all out in a long breath. 

“Athena, Goddess of Wisdom, Dolos, the Spirit of Craftiness, Loki, God of Mischief, Merlin, the Great Wizard, Achilles, Hero of the Trojan War, Giglamesh, King of Heroes, and Cu Chulainn, Child of Light.”

Haley goggled at the panel of Tournament Designers, her mouth agape. If only she could see Diarmuid's face, as well. She imagined he was just as shocked. Merlin really _was_ behind the tournament in one way or another. Hell, he was one of the main hosts for it. And he’d taken pity on them. She could have sworn he winked at her and she immediately glowered at her feet. 

She played back the line-up in her mind. Three more of those beings were also affiliated with the Grail War in some way. What the heck was this damn tournament?! There were far more participants than she had been promised. There were individuals she could discern that were definitely affected by curses so malicious as to make her skin crawl. 

The other Detainers possessed magic that far surpassed any sorcery she has ever wielded; this newfound knowledge made her awareness spin out of whack. What horrified her the most was the continuous ache in her heart for the soul she came here for. She eyed the bleachers that held all of the Damned. How was she going to save Diarmuid when so much was stacked against them? Just… _how_?

Diarmuid straightened as he looked among the roster of Designers. The Wizard who had saved him was part of this list. But the other one.. had He partly devised this madness? The Servant who had taken part in his Grail War? His name was Giglamesh. He never had the honor of learning his name before, thanks to the treachery of his Masters. 

He could not mistake Gilgamesh’s blonde hair that matched the golden armor plated around his entire body… that bored, annoyed expression across his face. How long he’d sat in Purgatory, Diarmuid did not know; but with the Grail’s destruction, he had not expected to see any of his former enemies taking on the role of Heroic Spirits. Maybe that wretched Caster, but the Servant who had such a terrifying Noble Phantasm? He’d thought it impossible, until now. 

What exact roles will these eight play in all this? Or were they simply here to observe, until there is a victor? He peered over at those who would be his enemies, and realized even they were recognising these legendary faces. This would truly be a test of his abilities. He saw plenty of opponents who would outmatch his skill set. How was he supposed to be victorious in the midst of such insanity?

The announcer continued her monologue, listing the simplest parts of the tournament. How the Forsaken will have to progress through rounds of challenging obstacles to lessen their numbers, which will eventually lead them to more difficult competitions, knowledge face-offs, and other situations that will test all of their abilities against one another, as well as singularly. 

It would not just be a battle of two souls, but a grand event that will have them competing for their greatest desires! The single victor among all the Forsaken shall be granted a pass to be free from the grips of Hell, while their Detainer shall also have their one truest desire rewarded for successfully competing.

Diarmuid's face lifted from his knuckles. The Detainer also received a reward at the end of the tournament? His Master–no, his _Detainer_ as they called her–had neglected to mention she would be also awarded for their victory. Thus– she did have a participation agenda, other than saving him.

 _Of course she did_. No sane human would come to Hell just to save some random, cursed Spirit. Of course not. 

He gritted his teeth. He should not feel so infuriated. He had suspected as much. He was already guarded, knowing there was more to her being here than just him. But it was the damned obsession and desire for the Grail that had made those despicable Masters do what they did to him. He had to remind himself that the woman was wholly capable of doing the same thing. 

At least she could not use her command seal to order such a shameful end again. The woman who had explained the basics of the tournament had mentioned that the command seals were for protection of the Detainer– in case their Forsaken happened to threaten their life. They were also engineered to create a single Miracle, identical to the conditions of the Grail War. 

If his Detainer were to be endangered, she could summon him to her; or if he were likely to be defeated, use it to give him a power boost. So long as he remained passively loyal, she would not need to utilize it.

Hell, he may secretly force her to find a reason to need it. That way, if she were to betray him, she would never be able to survive him. His hands would find her skinny throat. Yes, that would be his plan. He refused –absolutely refused–to again be someone's wretched tool, to be betrayed on a convenient whim.

 _Diarmuid... hellloooo? Earth to Diarmuid?_ Her voice shook him. He had not noticed how trapped in his thoughts he was, yet again. He felt a trickle down his cheek, and shrugged his shoulder to wipe the liquid away, but only smeared the leaked blood across his face.

Wonderful. He had managed to contain the flow of his curse and anger to stay within his eyes. Now all of that internal work was being unraveled. What a pity. 

_HEY!_

_Apologies, "Detainer"..._ He almost spat the words at her, but strove instead to mask his anger.

 _A Forsaken was talking my head off. Could you please repeat?_ His first lie. Would it be his last? It would solely depend upon her actions. None of this was remotely chivalrous, but he was conflicted about whether to maintain that code of conduct, or to trash it utterly after where it had previously led him.

Haley paused. The discrepancy was faint, because he was so far away. But her link and her senses hinted that he was troubled in some way. And when did he start calling the other souls that God-awful term: ‘Forsaken’ and then herself, ‘Detainer’? 

She debated asking him about it. But she figured that explaining how she knew would be troublesome. Best to ask him later, when they have a proper chance to talk. Maybe. Aside from the benefits of the link- her natural ability was something she kept to herself. 

_I was just checking in. They're going to be introducing us soon. Then we'll be thrust into the Arena... so…_

_I understand, Mas-Detainer. It will be fine. We should devise a plan._ Diarmuid almost growled at himself. Wonderful, he was to be put on show in front of everyone with a blood smear on his face. He was sure that would go particularly well.

_Stop calling me Detainer. Annnnything else is fine. But we should, absolutely. Man, I haven't even explained the full extent of my power to you, and they're already throwing you guys into the ring. At least they're talking about the rules for you. Anyway. Let's strategise now, okay?_

_Apologies… Master.. Yes, let us discuss–_

Haley and Diarmuid communicated telepathically for some time. Thankfully, the amount of contestants gave them the time she needed to explain to him exactly what she could do with her telekinesis: she was able to move almost anything as long as she could see it. She could also move things without vision, but it required her to have taken a photographic picture in her mind. If she even missed the slightest of details, or the makeup of the said thing she planned to move, it wouldn't work. 

With heavier objects, there would be more strain on her mind. She was even capable of moving herself. She made sure he understood that she could control multiple objects at a time, but it required more concentration. That excessive use, or extremely difficult tasks resulted in headaches, and sometimes, even would have her black out. So they needed to be cautious. 

She wanted him to know that it was a gift, and it did not require any magic from her at all. So if he ever needed more mana from her to perform specific tasks, or enhancements, she could most likely do it. She detailed the fact that (aside from having plentiful magical circuits), she never liked the world of mage craft and studied very little. 

Her main magical focus was healing, curing certain types of curses which she would explain to him later, and the creation of illusions (however faint, and with quick time limits). She had one or two other niches that had to do with her mental capabilities, but one she swore to never use unless absolutely necessary; and the other was useless for what they were taking part in at the moment. Plus, those two abilities– she preferred not telling anyone of unless they were extremely close to her… and there were very few people she trusted, if any at all. Hence she chose to leave those out, as well.

They also discussed their plan. Her telekinesis and enhancement magic would play a huge role in helping him sprint across the playing field before them. After listening to the Announcer explain the point system, they didn't have to win the race: just survive the obstacles and finish in at least the top hundred. It was simple enough. They were going to split them into threes, since there were six hundred participants in total. 

A Wave of magic from Merlin would allow the Detainers knowledge of which race they would partake in. This was all good. While they weeded out the participants, they also explained the way to get Sponsors, who would aid them in the later fights. These beginning matches were to help the onlookers choose, and to narrow down whom they wanted to support. So they planned to attempt to stand out enough to hopefully gain a single, reputable sponsor to benefit them later.

 _Do you have any other questions of what I can do, or how to utilize it?_ Haley asked, trying to wrap up their plan. She watched as a girl smaller than herself went up on the magical stage they’d created to introduce the players in the battle royale. The girl looked as though she couldn't be more than twenty years old. The soul next to her seemed like a young boy, as well. They held hands as they skipped down the stairs to the Arena. She realized that they were introducing them in the order they were to be in the obstacle course.

She glanced at the crowd—who have come and gonecnsidering this was likely the most boring part of the show. 

_Crazy_ , she thought. These souls are battling for their chances at freedom from Hell, and these people don't even care. It bothered her. Yes, they were going to Hell for a reason. And she was positive there are beings here who definitely do not deserve the chance of resolution, but... that did not mean they were disposable. Especially when some surely are in situations similar to Diarmuid’s predicament.

_No, I believe we have a good plan. Your abilities shall be useful._

_If used right, absolutely. Well–_ Haley feels a single, simple, heartbeat to her mind.

 _Haley and her Forsaken, Diarmuid! Center Stage, sweetheart!_ Merlin's words rumble in her chest. Did he just call her sweetheart? Thankfully, no one else heard her summons. She wondered if it sounded the same to Diarmuid, or if his message was slightly different?

No matter. She stood shakily, and shifted her eyes through the Panel of Designers. His charming smile danced on his face. The rest seemed uninterested. She staggered down the stairs, and met Diarmuid halfway to the stage. The shackles around his wrists disappeared when they came together, and she cocked her head at the spread of red across his face. 

What in the hell? When did that happen? Did an Observer do something to him, or someone in the stands? How did he even bleed ? When she got closer and walked alongside him, she realized it had stemmed from his right eye. Focusing, she felt his curse had deepened. 

Wait what? Why? She had no time to even ask, as they were footsteps from the stage. As silly as she was sure to look, she focused hard on Diarmuid's face. This was going to be a test of her abilities since the molecules were so small, but she stared hard at the mark on his face and attempted to pull the crusted pieces away.

Diarmuid turned his attention to Haley, as he felt prickling on his cheek. The extent of her telekinesis was eminently admirable. She was removing the blood smear from his features. It must be proving difficult, as it was going slower than he has witnessed her power thus far. He nudged her with his elbow: what she had accomplished was enough. They were getting awkward stares from those watching them from behind their position on the stand. 

She looked ridiculous staring at him so intently. She sighed, and reverted her attention to the stairs that led to the Announcer. He offered her his elbow in an attempt at chivalry. He did not understood why he did it. Especially since he was so wary of her and her intentions with this ‘reward’ looming over him. He must be returning the favor of her attempting to clear his unrewarding face. Thankfully, after raising her eyebrows at his gesture, she graciously took his arm and they made their way up.

"And here we have Detainer Haley, and her Forsaken, Diarmuid! I must say," the Announcer goes over to them as they unlink their arms, "Chivalry is not as dead as this man!".

The crowd laughed and Haley felt the blush burn her cheeks from the borderline nasty remark.

"Oh look here, there is something on your Face!". The crowd chuckled again and Haley nearly hung her head. She wasn't able to remove the entire smudge in time. But dammit, she won't let this woman humiliate them.

Haley's eyes darted ever so subtly to the right, flowing the Announcer's dress up to reveal her butt cheeks (split by a thong). 

"And there is something between your crack!" she cackled, sending the crowd into a roar of hysteria from the quick peek of nearly-bare buttocks—or her joke—she wasn't so sure which. 

The Announcer shrieked and pulled down her dress. Haley bit her lip to hold back her laughter. The rules stated they weren't to fight, or attack the employees, but there was nothing explicitly outlined about playing harmless pranks. 

She glanced at the panel to see if they caught on to her manipulation. They seemed to be enjoying their own fits of laughter, Merlin especially. However, Gilgamesh’s face appeared pained. She wondered if he recognized Diarmuid at all?

Diarmuid knew, he _knew_ , that Haley had used her power to flaunt the woman's undergarments to the entire Arena. He did his best to hold his composure, but his smile was relentless. His lips refused to cooperate. With just a single motion, Haley was able to turn the tables so that he was not the main course for their entertainment and ridicule. That was a daring move, but it didn't seem to bring about any issues. So he gave her his thanks through their link.

"Well then! Off you two go!" The announcer said, attempting to regain her dignity. So they trotted off the platform and squashed themselves into the sea of Dead. The crush of bodies continued piling up until it filled with the Arena's first two hundred contestants. The center platform whizzed through the air–Announcer and all–to the bleachers. 

"And now: the moment we have all been waiting for! Observers please adjust them accordingly for the first challenge!"

Haley grabbed Diarmuid's left hand in both of hers and gave it a squeeze.

"I have to go to the outer link of the course," she said, as her eyes darted to the Observers separating those jammed in around them.

"Remember, you don't have to be first, just get to the end, and be wary of those around you," she compressed his hand once more. "And be careful, okay?"

Diarmuid peered at his hand, as her reassuring press sent warmth to the palms that desperately lacked it. There it was again– that worry for his safety. Was it because she was truly distraught for him, or was it because she desperately wanted something at the end of this?

"I will take utmost care, my Lady. This will be child's play."

Haley nodded and removed herself to where the other Detainers had been escorted. She watched as Diarmuid brought himself to the line of souls that spread lengthwise across the playing field, right before the mark of the Obstacle course. 

She looked over it one more time. It was long: but what troubled her were the dangerous and deathly items scattered about. Some of these things would torture them if they were to become trapped in them. Then there was the fact that she had to match her speed with Diarmuid’s, who was assuredly going to be much faster than her. 

She looked for vantage points, and found a few where she wouldn’t have to completely follow him along the course, and could provide him with necessary assistance. She took a deep breath. He was relying on her to be his backup, and she could not fail… or it would cost him everything. And she refused to let that be the case.

The lights brightened slightly, the course made lighter for the viewers and everyone to see clearer.

"Forsaken, be ready! Take off in 5,"

Diarmuid leaned forward, eyes darting between the enemies around him then back to the course in front of him…

"4"

Haley inched further along the lines…

"3"

Other Detainers began chanting spells, some readied their bodies to sprint…

"2"

Haley leveled her magic and readied herself to give Diarmuid's body an enhancement once the call came…

"BEGIN!"

And then they all hurtled forward…

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter might have been long for some readers. However, when writing it, and thinking of all the events that take place in this story, I realized that if I dont make some chapters longer than others without cutting important details, the story will be a gastronomical amount of chapters lol . I really dont want the story to suffer from having too much, but I really dont want it to suffer from having to little like my previous. Feedback on progression is definitely welcome! Anyway, ENJOY! I personally like this chapter. I think it's fun, and a good look into their characters and the arena hehe


	6. Loopholes

_This was no ra_ ce, Haley thought. It was a massacre. When they mentioned she was to support Diarmuid on the terrain, her informant hadn't mentioned they meant this.

Immediately on their sprint to the first obstacle, extensive barbs plunged from underneath their feet and impaled the unsuspecting contestants. Boulders hurtled toward them, launched by catapults situated at the opposite end of the Arena. 

Haley had changed the trajectory just quickly enough for one to roll past Diarmuid's side. It would not have crushed him, but it would have caused serious injury. She ducked under a Magus; he clenched his fists, bursting apart the minerals in the stones. A man in the Course had sidestepped to avoid the gravel, but instead triggered explosives that scattered his dismembered pieces of flesh. The blast blew a cloud of dirt through the cage surrounding the enclosure.

Haley had enhanced her vision. From where she stood, she tracked Diarmuid's minimal progress from the sidelines. She dipped her face into her arms as she crossed them in an effort to shield herself from the blast that erupted, causing her hair to blow about wildly. 

She noticed that certain Magus had created barriers that engulfed their bodies–keeping them alert–as they attempted to help their Souls on the acreage. However, the tract gave way, disintegrating under the dead's feet. The pit falls dumped the unfortunate competitors who ran blindly into a mud that slowly melted the skin on their bodies. 

In the frenzy, Haley had stretched out her palm to hold Diarmuid in place just before he had fallen, her chest bobbing from her panic. In the sudden chaos, she nearly lost him in the blur of figures. 

She released her grip and surveyed the playing field (for both herself and Diarmuid). The Obstacle Course was squared off in the center of the stadium by a wired fence that coiled at the top. She needed to get to high ground immediately – that would work. The partition overlooked the entire territory Diarmuid had to cover.

_Diarmuid, hang on! I'm going up to get a better view. Tread lightly while I figure this out!_

_Will do, Master. I'll-_

Diarmuid sprang out of the way of an arrow that zipped past his cheek. He angled his footing to make sure he wouldn't land on the lighter patch of dirt, which he assumed to be another trap.

Continuous arrays of projectiless slung towards him and the other competitors. The Knight continued nimbly dodging the abundance of missiles, slowly advancing his way forward. He heard a subtle whistle in the sky, as a single sword soared toward him. He quickly snatched a guy and used him as a shield, the blade skewering the man’s back. 

"Sorry," he murmured, tossing away the body, as the sword faded. He squinted, before continuing to move forward. Standing seemed to be frowned upon.

 _Apologies, Master, I am being forced to continue!_ he called to Haley, as his next step drew his attention to his feet. He growled and lunged to the left as a rope unraveled from the ground, pulling up dirt. A woman next to him was caught by her ankle and sprawled upwards, arrows piercing her form.

Haley frantically scurried and pushed her way through the other Detainers, the course blurring as she passed it. Quick, she needed to be quick. Diarmuid was being forced to progress, and she was unable to aid him. 

She skidded to a stop and yanked herself onto the fence that separated her from the stadium. It towered at least twenty feet tall. The rules stated she couldn't enter the Obstacles: but it did not mention utilizing the perimeters. She needed to exploit the loopholes or else there was no way in hell she could support him from out there. 

When she reached the top, her eyes frantically searched among all the souls propelling through the Arena. 

Where? Where was he?! Her magic sharpened her vision. _Come on... Diarmuid.._

_Diarmuid, if you are alive, let me know where you are. Use an excessive amount of my mana to do something!_

_Absolutely, Master!_ Diarmuid channeled her magic to his fist. He rammed the ground as he swiveled in the dirt, evading a cluster of several types of weapons. He assumed they were targeting him specifically as others went racing by, unharmed. 

He tensed, visibly shaking from vexation. He either had a target on his back, or his Master must be drawing some sort of attention to herself. What had she done to get a better glimpse of him? She could very well be costing him precious progression. Was she truly capable of handling this? Had he made a mistake, entrusting himself to her care? No– he willed faith in her. His instincts told him to do so. He was participating for the sake of the slight chance at redemption, and she was his only saving grace in this madness.

Haley's eyes locked on him as she measured the distance between the first obstacle. There were a number of dangling chains, on which she viewed a few souls climbing up to a platform of continuous challenges. She finally spotted Diarmuid, rapidly moving forward… strange weapons swarming him in a blinding light. 

She snapped her wrist, scattering the weapons away from him. Immediately, the telikinetic spun on her toes and sprinted across the top of the fence with as much speed she could muster, striving to catch up with him– something that should be almost impossible considering how sharp the barbed, curled wires were. But she merely hovered over them, keeping the soles of her feet close but not touching it. It was just enough obfuscation to trick anyone watching. 

She sensed a camera trained on her and glanced at the televised screens, watching herself dash across the fence. The Announcer was spewing some idiotic nonsense about her.

_Go Diarmuid, run faster, straight ahead! There are no traps! I just saw someone complete it!_

Diarmuid hadn't the faintest idea to where she watched– but he sped up, making a rapid dash to the chains that came into view. At last, he reached the first part of this course. 

He grabbed the chains and started to shimmy up. His palms began to sizzle at the touch and he hissed. These were enchanted, butwith gritted teeth: he continued north, muscles aching from bearing his weight. 

When leveled, Diarmuid asked if Haley she were able to heal the wounds, informing her of his blistering palms.. magic spun around his hands, and though it did not completely remove the injury, it halted the trauma. This allowed him to scale faster to the top of the platform. 

Crimson's eyes narrowed to the man on his left. He had monkey-swung into the poor soul next to him, knocking him off and causing him to descend back to the soil. Diarmuid swung to his right, avoiding the crash he expected from this bastard. He utilized the swing back to leap onto his chain and stomp onto the man's face, propelling him off the metal.

Haley stood, her chest rising and falling heavily as she attempted to catch her breath. She had rushed past the first and second course, waiting for Diarmuid to pop his head over the platform at the end of the chains. 

_Come on, come on!_ she thought to herself. 

Thankfully, he dragged himself over the edge. Ropes dangled, strung out across a trench lined with spikes ready to impale whoever fell from it. She told Diarmuid which ropes to leap onto, as not all of them were stable. 

Was this cheating? Watching the others who had succeeded and guiding him to follow suit? Clearly the Hosts didn't care, as they hadn't interfered with her yet. However, her guard was well kept. She suspected if they so much as thought she would leap in– they'd not hesitate to snipe her down.

Diarmuid backed up and then catapulted to the furthest rope, clinging to it as it swayed about. Other souls followed suit, but the ropes they hung onto gave way, dropping them with a splat onto the prongs. Others met slippery muck on the string that made them slide to the bottom. 

Listening to his Master's guidance, the irishman was making progress, but the spikes from underneath ejected and slashed past his skin. He grimaced as the flesh on his leg split on his second to last swing. Haleys sharp voice blared for him to snag the rope to his left, as the one he clutched currently released from the roof's hold. 

Diarmuid caught the lead she suggested at the last second, and slid down almost to the end of the line. He shimmied up, as more spikes ejected to hack away at him, but they spun back down from Haley's gifts. He made a mental note to thank his Master tremendously for the amount of effort she had been putting in. He then swayed from the last rope, landing with a plunk onto the second platform.

Glancing left and right then at the edge of the rostrum: the next challenge regsitered. There was wood crossed on each side, blocking the view from the outside. In front were swinging blades hanging from the arch that connected to the edges. Each one fluctuated at a different speed and pattern. Every couple of slices, there were hammer-like objects slamming down to crush any who's miscalculated their footwork.

Haley warned him he was in a blind spot and she could not assist him, distress in her tone. That was alright: this was to his caliber. He finagled his way in between the blades, calculating each swipe. He had to jiggle through a couple and one had nicked his shoulder. 

He stooped under the mashing stones and stiffened straight to avoid a swinging hammer. He made a step to duck under the next swiping blade, but the floor underneath him gave out. He dropped and clung onto the edge with an exasperated groan. 

Peering down past his dangling legs, Diarmuid saw the pit laced with the foul thick mud ready to devour his skin. He yanked himself back onto the platform, planting himself flat as a blade swung for his head. He made his final dart for the edge, hearing the splatter of bodies behind him. 

The two blades in front of him crisscrossed. Timing was of importance here. Analyzing them for a couple of seconds… it seemed they had no consistent pattern, slicing differently with each heavy swoop.. craning his head to view above them... yes. There was a crack through the wood that held them together. He wasn't to go through it, he was to go over it. 

He crouched as close to the floor as possible and jumped. He landed flat on his belly, kicking out his legs so they wouldn't hang down and get sliced. He dragged himself through, barely fitting in the opening, as the wood scraped his gut. Looking down, a sigh of relief escapred. The blades did not extend outward. He was able to push himself off and landed abruptly on to the foundation.

Haley's fists were balled up at her chest as she shook. 

_Did he make it?!_

Worried glances caught Diarmuid slink out from a slot in the wood and finally, Haley released the breath she was holding. In this moment of despite, the woman wedged her way further down the fence as other Mages had copied her idea and lined the top. She ignored them– they were not allowed to attack her. They could only pin their attention on aiding their specific Soul in the Arena this time around. 

Now on a comfortable spot away from the competing Magi, Haley spied Diarmuid make his way up the extended staircase that leveled the rest of the course a few feet below. She was thankful she had better visuals and didn't have to waste magic enhancing her eyesight. Ready to guide him through the next obstacle until- 

Her head snapped to her right. The fence began to thrum. Haley knew that sound all too well: they were going to kick on the electricity. 

She cursed under her breath. The thought to stay in the air, hovering over the current came to fruition: but it would reveal too much. The woman spared a glance at Diarmuid– he was almost at the top of the staircase. This angle was crucial. Assisting him from below obscured her vision. She clenched her hands at her decision. It was too soon to put all of their cards on the table.

The fence came to life right before the woman bolted. Haley guided herself telikineticly through the drop. Her landing became a tuck and roll to make her fall seem believable as the bellows from some of the Mages tainted the air. She trembled at the sound of sizzling flesh.

 _Diarmuid, I can't see you well enough, not anymore. They took away my vantage point. That water is boiling. You fall in- you dissolve. There are demonic creatures swimming in them that jump out at you at random. The pads in the water cannot hold your weight. What do we do...?_ Haley communicated to the spirit, searching through the fence to see the man once more.

 _My lady, would you be alright with an all or nothing gamble?_ Diarmuid answered, pacing up the staircase. He sensed more dead following behind him.

Haley nodded to no one. If he had an idea.. she'd best entertain it. If _you think it'll work, I am with you._

_Enhance my speed as close to your limits as you can. I cannot sink if I move quickly enough. I can vault over the creatures. Have faith in my ability, my Lady. I will be alright._

Haleys throat shifted.. That really was an all or nothing gamble. This Irish legend was incredible with agility, but if he so much as turned wrong: he'd be fried– or dinner to the pawns swimming about . It wasn't that she doubted him—the Psychic was just… scared for him. But knowing what he was capable of… the woman trusted his judgement. 

At that thought: Diarmuid was deluged instantly with more mana that heavily influenced speed. Cerulean eyes followed him through the random bunch of souls attempting to make their way across the pool. The man made his sudden dash. 

A magus almost knocked her over rushing by, attempting to shoot down the eels that splashed about. Despite the distractions, Haley rigorously followed Diarmuid's movements. 

Like a speeding bullet, a blur to quick to see, Diarmuid made his way across the pads in the water – skipping across them elegantly. Haley barked at him, that at his right an eel had slithered from the water and aimed for his neck. He twisted mid-air, grabbing the tail and using it to swing to another mass of pads, she presumed. 

He was more agile than was expected. The way he meandered through the dishes in the water… landing on one, and instantly making his way to another reminded her of a dance she missed the teachings for. The way the warrior maneuvered with ease and elegance had her marveling at his astonishing grace.

A crocodile skeleton (whose flesh gripped only portions of its enormous body) surfaced, lunging underneath Diarmuid with its mouth agape. Haley attempted to slap it back into the water, but Diarmuid hurried down in the air and grabbed its jaw with a tug, slamming its boned weight into the water. The splash grazed his body, slightly liquefying his skin. 

The Knight straightened his legs and followed the creature, using the back of the monster to leap onto another pad then skipped forward—ready to land on another—but the crocodile had cracked up from underneath it. Diarmuid adjusted in the air, his back smacking with a crack into the head of the beast. He quickly snapped the creature's mouth shut and rolled with it until it was underneath him; plunging the massive reptilian with a splash and leaped off it again. 

Crimson orbs locked on the dock. Diarmuid was meters away, closing in on the landing… until the liquid pooled behind him in a a massive wave. On his descent, the eels whipped out of the water, tangling onto his arms and leg, pulling him back to the water’s edge. Fingers dug into their slick skin, attempting to rip them off him. Diarmuid warily glanced behind him, as the eels dragged him back to sink him into the wave.

The current behind him froze in place, the eels torn from the wave with massive energy. Landing on the concrete that cemented the bottom of the box, Diarmuid dared to spare his attention behind him. The work of his Master, he realized... The woman still had his back, it seemed, and his lips curled into a grin. 

He pushed off the floor and shot out of the emptied pool, touching down on the dock before the water could swallow him whole. Other souls were observed gaping at the spectacle, taking advantage of this opening. The magical boost depleted with the current. The massive cascade sounding off with a crash, almost consuming participants behind him. 

Diarmuid jogged to the loops of fire. This was a simple, flat clearing, open on all sides. He could see the walls of people cheering in the bleachers at the far, far left. Was he to simply jump through? That was too easy. There must be another trap lying in wait somewhere. 

Other souls around him halted in their tracts, and seemed to be pondering as well. A foolish woman made the leap, causing the fire to flare out of control. Scorching heat triggered his reflexes, and he signed the fiery blow.

 _DROP!_ Haley's pitch resounded in his head, before she face-palmed Diarmuid into the cement. 

The flames that outlined the rings had begun to swirl, before they straightened out like a slithering snake and blew across the platform. The inferno blazed when it penetrated a soul behind he stunned speechless Irishman, his screams muffled by the crackling of his skin. The flames spun, and creating a vortex that engulfed another soul who had dodged the wrong way just before the fire reeled itself back.

Haley assumed this was their chance. _GO THROUGH THE HOOP! NOW!_

Diarmuid respected her order and followed through without casualty.. Without delay, the second helix crackled two flaring whips. They struck at him swiftly, lacerating his back when he angled himself sideways to in a futile attempt to negate the strike. Haley stifled a shriek. 

Despite the injury (and to the woman's surprise) Diarmuid adapted swiftly, stepping back on his leg and bending backwards as the inferno slicked past his neck and barely scraped his chin. He then tumbled as the second ring slipped its way around him and skimmed his back. Without hesitation he lunged and broke through the second hoop. 

Haley couldn't get over the man's incredible movement. _Diarmuid, you're amazing!_

Diarmuid beamed. He had not expected her compliment, but it sparked joy to his pride. With this newly found motivation, he slithered through a snap of heat and bent forward, the second fizzing over his head; on the third, he back-flipped and broke through the next hoop. 

The next whipped like a frenzy, flames attempting to devour him. He tumbled, grappling with the bursts of flames that slipped past his ear. Pushing off the pavement, he curled backwards and dodged another burst that flailed over his chest. He dipped and bent at the knees, as the flames whisked over his head.

Jumping over the flames that crashed below him, he spun through the fire and pushed through another hoop. One more and he charged. A single, thick strand of fire aimed for his chest. He smirked, draping out his leg and sliding underneath it. 

Another strand came for him and he rolled onto his left side, continuing his slide. An explosion of flames erupted at him as he braced himself for the impact– there was no dodging this one. He let the heat scorch his clothes, burning his skin before he angled upright and plunged through the hoop, unafraid.

_Diarmuid, get ready to swing!_

There was no platform at the end, just a spiked, hanging ball. Haley ran along the line of the fence, adjusting his descent as other souls followed suit. 

Diarmuid landed feet first; she slung his weight forward so he could grip the edges of the ball. The force from so many landings had pushed the sphere forwards: debris crackling underneath the pressure in a shockwave of debri,, crushing the poor soul that was on the back side.

Haley remained alert, as Diarmuid and the others scurried around the round object like micez trying to avoid the second sphere that collided alongside it. All contestants took this opportunity to travel to the second: the two balls separating.

 _Get ready to jump again!_ Haley warned, as a third came from the side. 

Diarmuid easily connected with it, steadying himself for the final marble that aimed to hit them head on. He climbed the chain and easily manoeuvred to it, readying for his final landing onto the next platform.

Diarmuid dropped easily and ran his way down the blocks of stairs in the final stretch of the course. Another field– littered with stiffened bodies. It was also riddled with towering cinder blocks that had wedges pricked into it. 

He exhaled. Last hurdle: if only he knew now where the next set of traps would be. He stepped lightly, testing areas in the dirt. There were no discolored or soft patches. Intuitive eyes inspected the body of one of the dead that was now... fully dead. Soulless. 

Other Forsaken had upped their speed to tackle the walls, but something bothered Diarmuid about the lingering smell. He turned over the corpse and saw three gashes straight across his belly. He winced, remembering the boar that had originally taken his life – these wounds reminded him of it… Wait. He inched closer to the dirt and cursed.

The crevasses in the walls were not so the dead could grip and climb them: they were tunnels for demonic insects that Haley registered attacking the souls that latched onto the walls. Azure eyes narrowed, noticing the head escape just before Diarmuid did. 

A gigantic centipede emerged from underneath the extremely dead man he was inspecting, ready to nab him. Haley flung Diarmuid so far backwards she figured shed send him to Hades before the Arena did. 

The insect’s legs were sharp as knives. It burrowed deep into the ground and expelled, slaughtering the souls landing from the previous ‘challenge’. Diarmuid skidded on his heels and looked over his shoulder, ducking instantly. The insect was damn quick. It emerged from behind him: denotating the earth and keen to hack at his back before Haley slung him into a mouthful of dirt. It was then the statnge tingling of her power trickled out, and the man regained control over his limbs once more.

 _Diarmuid, run!_ Haley called, backtracking the fence as fast as her legs could carry her. It's be more efficient getting closer to something that large.

Desperate to assist Diarmuid, the woman went as far as shoving a Magus aside, and hopped over another to mentally yank the centipede towards her. It propelled backwards, scraping dirt in a frenzy as it dragged nearer. The cry it emitted infuriated her eardrums but she flexed her arms down to her knees, crushing it in a flurry of dust.

Diarmuid obeyed, taking off to the walls, dipping underneath a centipede that emerged and glided on his back underneath it. The moment his feet returned him upright, he continued his sprint.

Tremors in the Arena erupted in several of those slinking creations, and yet still the Knight managed to avoid their assaults. Left and right, Diarmuid rode the inertia, zigzagging in his face to dodge the the emerging. Strong hands met stone, as he rammed into the wall and shimmied his way to the top.

Almost as if in response to his ascent, the brick rumbled and hissed as insects of different origins exited. They swarmed the man, but he kept tracing up the wall, ripping them from his back, kicking them off his legs. Every location they bit swelled with popping lumps. 

Diarmuid grimaced – he was almost at the peak of the damn thing. But this death trap had not seemed finished. It quaked so hard, he'd imagine the entire dome would crumble. Instead, another ghastly centipede aimed right for him from the hole it created below him He was about to turn to lunge at the beas whent-

 _Diarmuid going up, creepy bug going down!_ Haley's voice bounced in his head; she chucked him up to the top as the ugly big staggered backwards, falling onto its back before it dug deeply into the ground again. 

Diarmuid huffed– he was almost there… 

_Go! Finish this, you are amazing!_ Haley practically cheered. 

The finish line was at the edge of the cinder blocks: he just had to spring across the top. There were still souls trailing behind. If he just heaved– yes, he would make it!

 _My thanks, my Master._ Diarmuid felt almost... cheerful. Her encouragement stirred a feeling long forgotten in his chest. What was it that he was missing? He would ponder later. 

Scarlet eyes narrowed, finally calling upon the edge of the Obstacle Course. The panel of Hosts at the end, hovered in the sky… eyeing him and the other Forsaken scattered about. He lunged, drifting easily across the pillars. 

More of those Centipedes emerged, but other Masters shot them down. He twirled over one that burst into flames. He closed the distance; he was but a gap away from completing this damn challenge. 

Diarmuid braved a spared glance to the fence off in the distance that was layered with the other Masters or Detainers, as they were called in this tournament. Most Detainers at this point of the game lounged.

He eyes locked on his Master, who was barely managing to travel alongside the barricade. He shook his head with a grin, and landed on the final Pillar.

His gaze carried to the exit in the lower left hand corner, with the Hosts hovering above them. That panel was definitely strange, and he wondered what exactly their roles were in this. 

He glimpsed at Gilgamesh, whose face was unreadable as he eyed the tournament still going on behind him. The Announcer (whom Diarmuid had drowned out the entire match) was still narrating. He let out a long breath. It truly had been a day.

Haley slouched onto a bench. The end of the course was furnished with seating for the obviously exhausted Magi. She tried not to focus on them. Her head was throbbing. She herself expended more of her mental capacity than she had imagined she would. It also didn't help that she ran a marathon to aid Diarmuid. 

Very few of the Detainers had traveled the course as she did. She only imagined what kind of magic those Magi held to be able to support their Souls so far away from them. The telikinetic also assumed that maybe their person had failed somewhere, and they had no need to continue onward. 

Glimpsing at the last pillar and finding Diarmuid; Haley couldn't wait to express her admiration of how well he performed. She was sure she could have done better but doubted he would complain. He did succeed, after all, with a lot of her help. 

She tapped her temple with her index finger. Yeah, she was going to mentally feel this one later.

"Rejoice! The final Forsaken and their Detainers have completed this challenging obstacle course! We have rounded out that one hundred and forty two have survived! Congratulations! Please allow us time to work out our score sheets! We will have the Leader board updated in just a few moments! Also, the Arena will be blacked out as we remove the lost Forsaken. Until then…" 

With a snap of her fingers, the pillar that held the Forsaken trembled, rumbling as it sank into the pavement. There were gates on the surface: the first was at the left of the course and bled into the hall that extended alongside it with the Detainers. The other was at the center that separated the second half of the Dome's Arena. It was padded down and protected by a powerful magical barrier. The announcer ushered the Forsaken through the gates to the left.

The Souls spilled into the crowd of Detainers, reconnecting with their partners. Diarmuid turned to the darkened Obstacle course and watched them ‘remove the lost Forsaken’, grimacing at the macabre spectacle. 

That Goddess Athena drifted across the Obstacle. Her braided ponytail flowed as she moved; the bright red armor she wore exposed her lush thighs, a white cloth swaying behind her. 

Diarmuid admired her beauty and the pure aura that reached him, even all the way here. She elegantly pulled the misshapen souls from their bodies. They were transparent and intangible, wiggling into a murky ball that was then sucked into the shadows that clung to the Goddess. Once they were vacuumed by the ghouls, their lingering bodies faded. 

Diarmuid turned his head. He could not bear to see the fate he was testing. Instead, he used his connection to locate Haley, who coasted through the Magus rapidly, her eyes darting through the masses as she searched for him. He chortled.

_Look here, Master._

The icy blue in her eyes lit up when she discovered him. He rubbed the back of his neck when she bumped into someone's rib, bowing apologetically when they snarled at her. 

His Master's small hands slapped her exposed thighs as she hunched over, catching her breath when she reached him. Diarmuid's lips curled at the corners. He surmised she had definitely pushed some of her limits.

"So, I had no idea it would be like that," Haley said, arching back up. "You look terrible." 

Diarmuid folded his arms. "Indeed. Are you unable to heal wounds in their entirety, my Lady?"

Haley's face flushed. Perplexed, she scratched at her elbow. "Eh? What? No. Healing magic is some of the only spell craft I'm actually good at. Why do you ask that?"

Diarmuid frowned. While he appreciated the effort she put in to easing the pain he had from his wounds- they had not healed completely, if at all. He unfolded his arms and turned his back to her. Putting the lacerations on display would best illustrates his explanation. 

So he pulled the slit in the fabric, revealing the gash that yet stung from when the fire laced his back. Tips of dainty, gentle fingers smoothly palpated the exposed tissue of his skin.

"What...? I-I healed this, Diarmuid," she said, in a voice so hushed he had to lean down to hear her. Haley attempted to heal him again – but the skin barely stitched back together.

"My Lady, worry not, they are minor. You have done well." It would be fair even to say… exceptionally well.

"But still- those wounds should be healed. Hang on, maybe there is something in the pamphlet..." 

The woman fumbled in her short's pocket, hoping she didn't lose the small book when running rampant. Thankfully, it was located and she checked the index. Skipping to the page labeled "Healers", Haley read the relevant paragraphs aloud. 

According to her instructions, wounds from the Arena would not heal completely from basic magic alone. There were special spells in place in the Arena that required unique handling from the Healers of the Underworld.

"What nonsense. They treat you people like garbage. It's disgusting." Haley nestled her lower lip under her teeth. Careful hands bashfully explored Diarmuid's jumper, exploring his injuries. The Psychic did not like it one bit. 

Not only did the tournament inflict wounds on their participants that could end them in battle if not healed, but the text also stated they could only visit the Healers when they were in the Arena. This applied to her and Diarmuid both: if anything happened outside, the Hosts were not responsible. Suddenly, the rule of not partaking in battle outside the Arena made more sense. 

Lost in thought, Haley absently caressed Diarmuid’s wounds… injuries that painfully reminded her of her own from a past time... until she caught Diarmuid's throat bob and dropped that train of thought. He took the hand she had used to map his body and cupped it in his.

"It's alright, my Lady. How do we find these special Healers?"

Haley clutched his hand tightly. Doesn't matter– her ass. It did, at least to her. It rubbed her the wrong way when anyone belittled others so carelessly. In the short time she had been with Diarmuid, she had realized he was much more passive when it came to others disrespecting him. 

Letting out a pitiful sigh, she pulled him with her to the corner of the bleachers that exited into a backstage. It was lined with medical personnel, with old, rickety beds along the walls. 

Haley was grateful with how simple the Healers made this process. No cuffs, nor berating comments. Just silent labourers… She was impressed with how quickly they worked; though she did note that Diarmuid wasn't as badly hurt as she had anticipated. Maybe she _had_ done a good job protecting him in the Arena. 

She was ecstatic at the realization… Haley knew she had mastered her capabilities, but having to use them solely for someone else's well-being was new.

The Healers departed, leaving the new duo to their own devices. They decided to stay in the back as it was less crowded, sitting on firm mattresses on the single, flat frames.

"You know – you were really awesome!" Haley said, playfully slapping his pectorals. Diarmuid flinched at the gesture; she pulled back her hand. He was always so jumpy when she casually touched him. Was it really that strange?

"You flatter me, Master. However, I must admit, having your backup has been an honor." Diarmuid hunched his chest, crossing his arm over his heart. The sound of her joyous laugh filled his ears. For once, the pitch had not burdened him.

"I think... we make a good team," she spoke softly, hoping he felt the same.

"Yes, I believe so."

Before the woman could reply, the television in the room cranked up, as the Announcer had begun speaking once more: the rankings were posted. Diarmuid gave Haley a meaningful look and followed her to the screen. There, they saw where they placed in the race… They were 56th. 

Haley encouraged him that their result was good, considering how many survived. Next, their rankings rolled over the screen. Diarmuid searched frantically– this was more crucial. It designated how well the Hosts believed they had done, and what they believed of their potential. 

Haley's gasp caught the irishman's attention, and she guided his eyes to their placement. His semi-beating heart stilled.

They now ranked twenty-second out of one hundred and forty two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a somewhat difficult chapter for me, but was so much fun going into the different ideas to make the Obstacle different, but also the same of the usual stuff you see in these death races. I hope yall have fun reading the race!


	7. His Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh-Oh.

"A watch?"

Still at the backstage of the Arena, the placements were given. Observers pulled the remaining souls and their Detainers to the bleachers where they had originally sat before to be given additional accessories and rewards. Haley inspected the gold in her hand. It was heavy in her grasp, but small and fragile. The digital screen screen was round, plated with silver, and had different modes to press through. Her favorite was the  _ time _ . 

It wasn't regular time, though. Unlike the living world, there was no day or night. It was always dusky and gloomy. So instead, it counted how long she was in the Underworld, based on her country of origin. 

It read 58 hours. She had been here almost three full days in her time, and it hadn't felt like it. However, the Psychic was  _ exhausted  _ , not from the lack of sleep her body desperately needed, but from over exertion. She had slept an entire day before making the journey here but hadn't expected to be immediately thrust into the Tournament. Nothing happened as expected, and she cursed her informant of their negligence to properly assist her. It felt as though they were setting her up for failure which only begged the question: What for?

Diarmuid leaned over Haley's shoulder to get a look at the accessory she fiddled with between her dainty fingers. He liked that it kept them informed about the events, their placement scores, points and sponsors, and he certainly of other things, in that tiny little device. He retracted himself when the Lady adjusted a clip and slipped it over her slender wrist.

He still could not fathom how such a lanky woman was going to do proper battle when the time came. While yes, he agreed they were a good team—it had only extended to the Obstacle Course thus far. After all, she only provided background support. From the whispers he gathered, the woman would eventually have to fight side-by-side with him, and that was troublesome. They still had yet to discuss their field decisions. Were she even capable of taking on these noteworthy foes?

"Yes, and then this," The woman, Anna as she stated, held her palm outright. Magically, a pouch that tied at the tip appeared. She shoved it into Haley's hand, "Your currency for today's match."

Haley pulled the thread, and the tip unraveled. She peered at the coins, then eyed the woman, "How do I know how much they're worth?"

"Ask your Forsaken. It should be aware." Anna adjusted her folder, layered thickly with papers, "Your watch will have the code to your room in the hotel. Find an Observer if you wish to leave to your residence."

Haley flicked a wave at Anna, as she turned on those damning heels and strode off, not even giving them a farewell.

" _ Ask for you Forsaken.  _ " She mocked in a girlish tone, her eyes rolling, "Man. They sure like to keep it short. She turned to Diarmuid who chuckled, his shoulders rolling when he did, "Well, we can either stay in the bleachers to observe the round, or we can see our living quarters. What do you think, Diarmuid?"

Diarmuid pondered the thought. She was giving him the choice? He examined her. There were shadows under her eyes, and the way she leaned on her leg led him to believe she was drained. 

However, the thought of seeing who his enemies were, and how they leveled the battlefield was tempting. If they were just to observe from the stands, would it be that damaging to his Master's well being? He was not sure, and thought he needn't risk it.

"As much as I'd like to scope out our opponents, I think it'd be wise you rest, my Lady."

Haley bit her bottom lip and pulled at the dry skin. Grabbing her right arm, she looked at the Arena, as it shifted, and the Obstacles rearranged, changing shape and weaponry entirely. 

Scope out their opponents, huh? It was possible to observe the next round in their quarters, but she was informed they would only be able to see what the camera's wanted to show them. Assuming Diarmuid wanted to remain up close: they would have a better understanding of their opponents. Shitting her eyes, she blew out a long breath, "How about we stay for like, the introductions and the first or second round then go? There are Observer's everywhere, I am sure if we left early they'll take us up. If not," She slipped her tongue out at the man tilting his head at her response, "Would it be so terrible to use your lap to nap?"

Diarmuid's eyebrows shot up, and he instantly glared into her eyes. Had they jaded? How had he not noticed? No, they're still bright and clear. She had not fallen to the love spot. She simply suggested huddling against him. 

He had not known what to think. It was almost absurd, practically dishonorable. It was also strange. He was dead, he would not be able to provide her with any additional comfort. The whole idea made him extremely uneasy.

"I—ah—must contest. I would not be too particularly fond of that, Master. We should head to our living arrangements. Apologies." He waited for her snap at him. In this past when he rejected his Lord—they berated him and his honor. However, she just smiled and tapped her fingertip to his shoulder.

"Don't apologize. It's okay. I noticed you don't really like it when I touch you at all," She shifted on her heels, "Why?"

The Warrior blinked. For to have accepted his answer so readily... was certainly unexpected, and her simple question pained him. He was  _ dead  _ to start. And cursed. It also wasn't that he did not like her touch, it was that his body  _ longed  _ for it. His form was desperate for the warmth she had and that he lacked. His very being yearned to be filled with the life she delicately held, and it burdened him. For some lifeless, that easily turned to obsession and is what caused haunting, and possessions.

It was one of the disgraceful bits of this body. His Master must be aware of this. So the less they made contact, the better. Pondering the best way of approach without dishonoring himself, or her he softly stated, "Given... the circumstances, I do not find it appropriate unless necessary."

"Hmm... wouldn't me being tired and needing a place to sleep be necessary?" Haley offered him a playful wink and then flicked his shoulder. The concerned look on his face told her enough and she giggled. It was fun teasing him. 

"Relax, I'm just kidding. You—" she hummed, deciding on how best to word it, "Need to lighten up. I know the situation is dire. But if you're always so serious, you'll miss out on all the good things going on around you." She turned to hall, "The very sad—but real—thing is, there is very little opportunity of said things. So it's even more important that you take advantage of any chance you get to, well, be." 

Azure eyes peered at him quizzically over her shoulder, as Diarmuid's honeyed glance dropped to the floor. She didn't think he'd accept her words immediately but hoped he would at least show any visible sign of considering it, "Just try for me, okay? Even if it's just once!"

Diarmuid stared at the back of his Master as she strolled away, not giving him a chance to respond. He had not liked the predicament she put him in, but was glad she allowed it to pass. 

Her words had rung true, but they pained him. How was he supposed to, "lighten up" as she put it? He was participating in a shady tournament that promised him forgiveness and the peace he had been desperate for. When would he ever have such a time to do as she wished? 

He spared a look at the newly planted Obstacle Course. There... was something the Knight wanted to remember that sparked in his heart when she cheered him onward. Would that be one of those moments she spoke of? No, he had not understood what it even was he felt, then. However, she had ordered him to try, and try he would.

Moments later, they had found a lightly armored Observer rather quickly. He was a tall, mildly built man with a clean face and dazzling short-cut black hair. He agreed to escort them to where they would be lodging until they either won, or died. Whichever came first. Haley eyed the cuffs that dug into Diarmuid's wrists and tried to fill them with magic to at least calm the nerves she sensed were burning. When she inquired telepathically if he had felt any relief she was pleased to know her abilities had numbed most of it. 

The trip from the Dome to the hotel was longer than anticipated. The building was so large the scale made it appear closer than it what. There were a few paths of pavement scattered with shops and a large field between them. Haley was even more exasperated that they had to  _ walk  _ there. She debated asking Diarmuid if she could latch onto his back, but decided against it since their previous conversation inclined her to give him space.

When they reached the skyscraper, it glistened under the rays of sunlight. It was just as dazzling as the dome, filled with riches that didn't belong. The God's seriously needed to get their architecture in order. It was great they were trying to replicate the modern era, but their fashion decided to shine through instead.

"Tell me, are we going to need an escort every time we go out in public or whatever?" Haley asked the Observer, who was quiet their entire trip. He unlocked the chains, and shoved them in his pockets with a clink.

"Yes and no. There will be designated times when you are allowed to explore the outskirts of the Arena, aside from the Sacred Market. They will alert you on your watch." He tapped the glimmering watch on his own wrist, "You will need to check in, otherwise, you are free to venture the hotel. Just don't go knocking on doors." He grinned this impish thing and walked off.

Haley nodded, pursing her lip.  _ Huh, so the Observer's  _ **_can_ ** _ have some personality. Good to know.  _

After doing their due diligence, she eyed the map of the hotel that reminded her of the digital panels that were in malls. There were two levels strictly for stores. She made sure to note their location so she could finally buy proper attire. There were also three food courts. The rest were all rooms for the Detainers and their souls to share. 

Shifting her attention to Diarmuid, who was touring the lounge. Those arrangements were going to be interesting, after their little chat. Before she could speak to him about it, a woman approached him at the center of the lobby. She was tall in figure, but a little heavy set. Her dirty-blonde hair mid length, and curled over her shoulders. 

Peculiar that situation was, as none but officials had given them the light of day until now—she questioned what the girl wanted. Prying wasn't really her style, but it did not quite matter when Diarmuid seemed to end whatever that was quickly. Visibly he seemed distraught. When she had opened her mouth to ask, he explained his love spot had be in effect. Apparently, the woman couldn't refrain from compliment how gorgeous he was with his scarlet eyes. Haley practically choked on air.

Thankfully evading whatever fiasco could have been brought by that passerby, Diarmuid accompanied the Lady to the Elevator. The futuristic thing pinged and they exited on the 56th floor. It would seem the rooms were assigned based on where they finished in the tournament. An interesting choice. Well, if he were trying to contemplate their reasoning he guessed it would make sense to only assign rooms to the victors of the first round. 

The hallways was relentless in length, but once he located their room—the number plastered above the steel door— Haley entered the code from the watch on the pin pad. The latch unhinged, and the door creaked open slightly. Diarmuid pushed the heavy metal and ushered her in gracefully. 

Haley scanned their space. It was simple enough. It wasn't as grotesque and equally not as flashy as she imagined it would be. The room had vaulted ceilings, and there was a single, king sized bed against the wall at the center. Across the room was a sliding door that had a balcony she was pumped to take advantage of. The curtains draped over it, and the sliding doors were partially open.

She spied a bathroom to their immediate left and would take it upon herself to take advantage of it. She had relieved herself before they left, and was thankful that her private one was a lot nicer than the public one.

Haley threw herself onto the sheets. Diarmuid spotted a couch and sat into the pleather. It was soft, and he sank back ever so slightly. When was the last time he had been—comfortable? He sprawled his arms on the back of the cushions and soughed. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his long legs. Yes, he could learn to enjoy this. 

In the back of his mind he knew this was the God's torturing them. They gave them luxuries they so much desired but were missing, to rip it away from them by reminding them all but one, was still going to  _ Tartarus  _ . He reminded himself not to be too satisfied, but allowed himself to enjoy it.

Haley kicked her legs back and forth, and hung her arms over the bedside, "The bed is actually amazing. So I was thinking," she rolled onto her back, and watched the fan on the ceiling twirl, "We trade off. It's only fair. You sleep on the couch one night I sleep on it the other. Sound cool?"

Sleep was not necessarily needed, but the gift of luxury wasn't one he'd deny. Diarmuid was grateful, given he couldn’t break down his body into a spirit form. To be fair, if only it mattered to the Lady, he would have encouraged her to keep the bed to herself. Thought if she were offering, then it would be discourteous to deny her otherwise "That is very much appreciated, Master. I would enjoy that."

Haley was glad Diarmuid had not bickered with her about it. She had expected him to object for whatever chivalrous code he could spout, but thankfully he did not. It wasn't that she didn't care for his codes of honor, but she had her own she'd like to abide by. The only issue she had was his ways were a tad bit outdated.

Shoving those thoughts aside, she eyed a remote on the nightstand. Nabbing it, she clicked the various buttons. There was literally only a single channel and she groaned. The flat screen hung across the bed on the wall that dipped back into a small hall that led to a closet. She turned the volume up on the television and then tossed the remote to the side. 

Deciding to rest her heavy eyelids, she informed the Knight she'll listen—but if she fell asleep— it was up to him to take in as much information as possible. Only silence responded to her. A sudden shift in their link made her skin crawl, and hairs stand on end.

Rolling over to spy the man in question left her with dread. Normally stoic in demeanor, that passive appearance shifted to visible anger. She pushed up on to her knees, hair falling over her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Diarmuid clenched his fists so tight, if he had blood, his palms would be bleeding from how hard he dug his nails into them. He felt a trickle down his cheek. He refused to answer that woman. Had she known that the immoral bastard that was responsible for his death in the Grail War would be here,  _ participating _ no less? 

She had already conveniently left out her  _ reward  _ after swearing to only be travelling here for his safety. There was crucial information impertinent to his survival that hadn't been spoken, and most likely has knowledge yet to share with him. So she was capable. If the woman purposely had him enter this façade, and kept this imperative knowledge away—she had better be prepared. He...he would have head before she could utilize that damned seal as Kayneth had.

Haley followed his glare to the screen, and felt the color leave her skin. Kiritsugu Emiya and his adopted son, Shirou Emiya walked from the stage and into the pool of souls. She remembered the confidential documents she pulled about them from the Mage's Association's network. Kiritsugu: the Magus Slayer. She was not worried for the boy, he was a lowly magus at best. But wasn't he supposed to be... dead? After he and his band of friends took place in a Grail War?

What Kotominei implied in those documents aside: she feared that soulless man. Kiritsugu was rumored to be a ruthless murderer who had the fourth Grail War under his thumb. Had Diarmuid strike himself in the heart by manipulating his Master, resulting in the curse that was now presently flushed all over his face. 

Her heart began to race. The telekinetic had not anticipated how powerful that darkness latched on to the Heroic Spirit was. Her senses went wild in warning that the obscenity was being amplified from being in this limbo, and seeing Kiritsugu sent it into overdrive.

"Diarmuid, calm down." Haley pushed out of the bed. Her eyes met the Irishman's infuriated stare and froze.

Those once gentle orbs had gone completely bloodshot. Blood teared from Diarmuid's right eye, and seeped from his lips like drool to his chin. It shouldn't be possible- there is no blood flow in his body. The phantom beat of his heart was just an imitation, same with any other organ function he performed. It's why his body was always so cold.

Haley's chest went tight, breath refusing to go out. Her heart retreated to the deepest depths of her body. This curse was far tougher than any she had experienced, but the cowering woman had to do  _ something _ . If only she could will her legs to  _ move _ . Her body was steaming with warning that part of his rage was geared towards her: something she could not fathom!

What did she do? Was it her teasing, earlier?

Haley played back their interactions thus far. She had been nothing but kind to him. So what was it? Did she say something wrong?

"Did. You know?" He choked the words out.

"That Kiritsugu was here...?" her voice barely came out, it was a terrified squeak. He looked like a demon. "NO, impossible. They don't let us know who the participants are beforehand. Come on, you know this!"

How could she calm him? The former Servant would have the chance to lash it out in the Arena—but he can't, not like this. If the panel saw this—

Diarmuid's body was trembling. His consciousness was a mess. Every nerve in his body sang for blood. Darkness rippled like waves—drowning any rational thought. He would never forgive them, any of them, for the humiliation he endured.

He would kill him. That man felt no shame. For him to participate in this damn tournament.... HE BELONGED HERE. Now, he was trying to escape?! He would not! He would feel his rage, all the way to the pits of Hell he would be damned sure to send him to. And this...  _ woman. _ .. 

She  _ lied  _ to him about her desires here. She could very well be lying about this, too! Was she working with him to torture him yet again?! He stood abruptly, and whirled to her, her eyes widening as she shrunk into her shoulders.

"I will take his LIFE!"

"Diarmuid, you can't." Haley let sternness coat her voice. The way he moved... She really hoped he would not try to make a break for the door. In his condition though, anything was possible. "At least, not right now. I know you're pissed, but you  _ NEED  _ to calm down! You would not be allowed in the Arena like this to do  _ anything  _ to him in battle if they strip you of your soul first!"

Diarmuid made the dash for her. He pinned her unexpected body to the wall with ease by the throat. He clutched down—hard— his nails digging into her jugular. He couldn't believe how perfectly her neck fit in his grip. Not even a second could tick by before he'd snap her like a twig.

However, the horror on her face was pleasing. She dare say he won't do anything to that monster? She had a reward she wanted, and would disregard him like the others if given the chance. She deserved this. He will kill her before she has the chance!

Haley shrieked, her head smacking against the wall with a crack. Her vision blurred from the amount of force he rammed into her. Her wind pipes were being crushed by his warrior's grip. Her body was in a panic, fighting for air. 

She felt her psyche—even in its condition—attempt to fight back, hurling him off her. But she reeled it back. There was so much mistrust in his aura. If she defended herself, he would lose himself entirely in whatever his curse was twisting about her. Plus, she cared enough to at least  _ try  _ to turn this madness around. 

Her shaky hand found his wrist as she tried to speak, but her jaw wouldn't budge. He would kill her, if he kept on. She was scared witless, but felt the determination pull through. This was not Diarmuid, not all of it, anyway. It was his curse, overbearing his thoughts and altering his personality. She had to get through to him. Or it would end him and herself for good.

_ Diarmuid, please—  _ Yes, she would try to get through to his thoughts.

_ Please—Please don't kill me... _

"You lied to me." He spits, blood spraying her face. He clenched around her harder, blood trickling from where his fingers sunk in, "You said you had nothing to gain out of joining this besides saving me. But there's a damn  _ reward  _ for you." 

Haley's eyes practically rolled to the back of her head. She felt the heat in her face, she would pass out or worse... but  _ THAT  _ is why he is so upset at her?! She had a perfectly good reason from withholding that information! He would have never made a pact with her if he thought she was only participating for her own goals in mind. It never crossed her mind that he'd be triggered this badly! How, how was she to convince him and retract the mess they're in?

She did her best, through burning eyes to look directly into his, and inconspicuously began pumping him with her magic. If she could lessen the rage devouring his wit—even slightly—she might have a chance to reason with him. Hopefully somewhere inside the Irish Hero could recognize her honest care for him. With everything she had, she begged,

_ Please—I'm—sorry. Please—Please—let me explain— _

"My honor has been DISREGARDED because of your monster's lust for PERSONAL GAIN!" Diarmuid felt his voice crack when he spoke. This woman was not... not responsible for... He jabbed the wall next to her head, his knuckles making the wall burst. Total madness seeped into any logical thought.

_ Diarmuid—I'm begging—you—let's—talk about this! _

The misery dragging through their bond simmered this faded light in his bloodshot vision. He could barely make out what it was for. Was it the death that awaited her from his own hand, or—no— it was—for  _ himself _ ? 

In this crazy he had her stifling for air and her concern was for him? Why,  _ why _ ?! His clasp on her loosened enough to release a bit of tension on her struggle. He  _ needed  _ to know her true desires for him. For this. 

He had already been through so much.

"My dreams! They were CRUSHED! WHAT... IS IT? Why is it that you DARED enter this world?!" The desperation in Diarmuid's tone and the desperation in his voice was overbearing. She felt the anger shifting to remorse and regret, and a pain she could not quite touch, even with her magic. 

Some of it was because of his distrust, because he suspected something of what reward she would get. His peace resided on her telling him, and getting this evil off of him. She pulled his curse into her more, a flash on her eyes of the same red that reflected in his own. She flowed her magic again, as it grappled with the wicked foundation of the curse that triggered such an outrage. 

_ I will—tell you—I just— _ Haley's other hand found his arm and she almost keeled over. She was going to black out, but mustered all her strength to hold his gaze,

_ Please Diarmuid! I—I don't want to die—just—give me—a chance—I'm begging you— _ **_please_ ** _! _

Diarmuid breathed. Inhaled and exhaled. The woman was drained, at her limit. He relaxed his grip ever so slightly, eyeing the welts of purple forming on her skin. But—by this point if he allowed her to speak...he fixed his stare to her left hand.

Haley followed his suspicious gaze and tried her best to give him a reassuring smile, however weak it was,

"I...would never...I  _ swear. _ " Her voice wheezed through his finger tips. This was her first—but could have been her last— chance to speak to him—and that was what she wasted her breath on? Reassuring him she would not utilize the command seal? 

Her right hand covered his hand on her throat as her eyes pressed such. His Master was at her physical limit. Wait...what...what was he doing? It was not  _ her  _ fault for what happened in his past. He was tormenting her based on wounds she had not committed. 

Diarmuid's face drooped as he felt a wave of calm start flushing whatever that derangement was away. The blurring in his mind began to clear. Horror gripped his features as he'd realized what he'd just done and slackened his hold immensely. Slowly, gently he placed the languished lady on her feet. 

She dropped onto her knees in a hacking fit. Struck with dread and alarm—Diarmuid backed as far from the girl, back slapping the wall across from her. What had he just done?

Haley gasped, and then croaked. She inhaled and exhaled in a coughing fit, her hands scissoring her neck. She fought to get air back in her lungs, as she choked on her attempts. She was so dizzy, and her vision was completely spotted. Seconds—she was  _ seconds  _ away from passing out or death. She didn't know which in her panicked state.

"Master—! I—!" Diarmuid tried to speak, but she raised her palm up flat, gesturing him to wait.

He jammed his mouth shut. She was still trying to recollect herself from his insanity. When she stopped coughing, he immediately tried again, "Master—Forgive me! I am so sorry." She looked at him, pity in her bright crystal eyes. She actually pitied him. How..

"It's— it's okay. It's okay." she said softly, trying to reassure him in her hoarse voice.

"But I—" he eyed his shaking, empty palms, "I tried to kill you. I-I'm sorry. I—"

"Please, Diarmuid- It's okay.. it's okay."

Haley hacked again. Through jagged breaths, she healed the nicks, and swelling in her throat. The pain residing, she caught her breath and collapsed on her backside, hand resting on her chest that heavily rose and fell. This spirit was so close to—

She tossed the thought. It was not  _ him  _ . It was that damn curse. She felt that malicious energy eating away at his soul and trying to cripple hers. The whole event shocking that it was even possible by how far it manifested to be able to push it back. Somehow, her magic paved an opening for calm in his mind that led to his eventual if ever so slight, compromise. 

She spared him a glance, and saw the curse had definitely rescinded, and his usual demeanor had flared back. His regret was visible in the way his body hunched at the wall.

"Are you... you?" She mournfully asked, needing a final confirmation. She knew he was trying to apologize, but he easily might go corrupt again.

The Irishman gave her a single, desperate nod. She bobbed her head and teetered as she stood. Her head was still attempting to regain the correct amount of blood flow. 

"Diarmuid, I-I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to deceive you. I swear, I was just worried you wouldn't even consider saving yourself if you knew that I would get something if we won. The way you're reacting proves that." Her lip quivered as she bit it. "I'm really sorry."

There was no deception in her words. All Diarmuid felt was remorse, and he slid down the wall, his thumb swiping at the liquid on his lip,

"What is it, then? Your reward. Just...tell me." His shoulders slouched, and he hated himself for it. He had tried to kill this woman, over whatever it was that she would be granted at the end of this tournament and for whatever rage had consumed him.

It was not entirely her fault. He had not wanted it to come to this, either. He had only wanted to question her on it, and why she had not told him. He had not expected it to swell the way it had. Seeing Kiritsugu—the man responsible for sending him into this hole—made everything merge together in his hatred that the lines blurred. And his damn Master suffered for it. 

If the Knight could only know—what it is that she is fighting for herself—then maybe it could help him understand her and this situation better. Maybe it would help him understand what just happened. Help him  _ trust  _ her.

Haley looked at his awful mug, trailing the motion of the smeared blood when he swiped at it with his thumb. Now she understood why he had a blotchy face when they entered the Arena. It had to have been his reaction to the Announcer mentioning the award. 

Damn, she was partially responsible for this, and she felt terrible for it. If she just would have told him—even if his answer could have been no—he would have had a decision he made of his entire volition. Leaving out she would get something, took that option away from him.

It was just hard for her. Telling him what she would receive required her opening doors she had closed long ago, and to a person she just met. Sure, she had revered his stories of legend, reading them profusely... but she didn't  _ actually  _ know him. He could very well be a different person than what the world proclaimed him to be...

Still—part of her reasons were  _ selfish  _ for not revealing her motives and she felt the way he looked. Sighing, Haley picked at her nails.

"I'll tell you.. but.." Her eyes cast to her feet, "It's, It's hard for me to talk about it, okay? Like really hard." She sniffled, holding back tears that threatened to spill, "Just... give me a second."

She didn't wait for his response. Droopily travelling to the bathroom, Haley ran the water in the sink. She slunk her hands in the stream, splashing her face to keep awake and wash Diarmuid's rage off. She then dampened a washcloth, running the warm water into the fabric. The tap squeaked shut and she found her way back to Diarmuid. 

Leaning on her knees, she looked to him as if to ask, "is this okay?" and he leaned his cheek into her palm with the rag. She smiled gently, and tapped the cloth over his lips. She slowly grazed his cheek, and wiped under his eye. She then turned over and sat next to him, back pressed against the wall. She hugged her knees, and dropped the towelette to the floor. "Still want to know..?"

"Whenever you're ready, My Lady. If at all. I understand if—"

"No, I said I'd explain, so. I will." She watched her own finger as it drew circles on her knee, "The Detainer who wins gets their deepest desire met," her eyes shifted to her left, as she felt his head turn to her when she said that, "I know, Diarmuid. Just.. let me explain."

"I will listen."

She half smiled, "I'm sure you have noticed. My voice?"

Diarmuid nodded. Yes, the high pitch of her voice was strange, but he slowly became accustomed to it. "Yes, I had not wanted to mention it, for fear it would embarrass you. We cannot help with what we are born."

"I wasn't born with it." Haley chuckled, at least he was trying to be nice about it. when she caught his eyebrow twitch in confusion. 

"When- when I was nine, I had demonstrated healing abilities to my father. I was an amateur, but was proud that I showed potential and showed him. My father had started training me to be the successor of the family, and I was under performing. I only wanted to use magic for fun, nothing else. And Magus.. well, they don't like that. So he—" she scoffed, and leaned further into her knees not wanting to recall the memory, "Slit my throat."

Diarmuid's eyes widened and his face whipped to look at her. Her father had done... what?

"The gash was deep. He severed something in my vocal cords. I was so scared, but all he said was, 'Heal'. He had no emotion. Just waited. And I tried, but I was nine.  _ Nine _ . How could I heal such an injury? I... was going to die. Again, all he said was, 'heal'. In all of my panic, somehow—some freaking how, I healed it. But not perfectly. I was left with this damn squeak. After that...'' Haley choked on a sob, "It went downhill after that. Every day—every damn day—he inflicted injuries on me that would cripple a person. 'Heal.' 'Heal.' It was torture, Diarmuid..."

Diarmuid's mouth dropped ever so slightly, his breath barely leaving the gap. He had not known she, she harbored such pain. She had been so cheery since they met. How could someone hide such scars.. From their own father—no less?

He was infuriated by the betrayal Kayneth had dealt him. However, he could not imagine how tormented she must be to have her own blood afflict such demented evils against her. He understood now, why she despised their treatment of him. Those lingering touches on his wounds... 

He placed a comforting hand on her back and she continued, "Eventually, I had lost it. He was.. my dad. And that's when the mental abilities came to light. I had exploded with telekinetic energy. For him, though, it was another opportunity to exploit me. He tortured me for seven years, having me strengthen my skills. He had gone insane with making me a "weapon" he could control. But.. I’m not a weapon. Or someone's property.. im.. im..."

Diarmuid nodded, unsure of what to say. He almost wanted to lean in to her, and give her any solace he could muster. He had not wanted to open old wounds in his quest for knowledge of her ambitions. 

Defeated in his own concern, he pulled his Mater slightly closer to him, as he massaged her arm. She paused for a moment and muttered a thanks. He watched her motion her head, as if to lean on his shoulder but if she had wanted to, she must have decided against it.

"One day, I finally had enough. I found a way to escape him and never turn back. But my father, he- he is high in the diplomacy of the Magus Association. He convinced them that I was dangerous. So they had put a bounty on my head." Haley's throat hitched, and the tears finally fell. She had not told a soul what her father had done to her. Not that anyone would believe her, anyway. 

She had just wanted to escape. To be  _ free  _ . To never have to see or deal with him again. To never let anyone be treated the way she had been. There was more to her story but this had been enough, she hoped, to help him understand. "Diarmuid I promise, I promise you, I didn't want to deceive you...I just... I just—"

The Knight waited, patiently. He would not interrupt. This life of hers—From what he has gathered—had she ever known serenity? 

He was lucky for most of his short life. When he was young he did have moments he adored. Fionn was his best friend, as were his knights. But her—to be tortured so young—a bounty she was attempting to escape... It was clearer to him why the Lady had told him to enjoy every good moment. She must have had to do the same. There was... much to identify with if he had just given her the chance...

"I just want.. to make them forget. Forget about my powers and that I ever existed. But not at the cost of you. I truly took this challenge to help you. I know that may seem crazy, but I am not the one who has suffer for an eternity for being treated badly. I still have a chance. But you—" she sniffed and shook her head, "You are being punished for having,  _ emotions  _ , and having a bad moment. That's just.. Cruel."

The Psychic steadily rubbed his thigh, hoping he wouldn't mind her returning his touch. Thankfully, he did not flinch or back away. "I'm sorry for not telling you, it's just so difficult to remember, and it hurts, it hurts so much. But, Diarmuid, You are the main reason I am here. And I would abandon that damn reward if it meant I would have to hurt you." Her watered hues locked on his sympathetic ones, "Please, please believe that."

Diarmuid had been mistaken. He had misjudged this woman completely. Everything in her words rang true. Their pact—their bond—told him so. The recollection of when their souls had mingled together during the forming of their allegiance reminded him of how  _ pure _ her mana had been. It was almost welcoming. How had he forgotten that? 

Her name trailed off his lips. What could he say? He had just tried to  _ kill  _ this woman. Whether it had been his curse meshing all of his uncontrolled rage, and the forgiveness for his perpetrators that he lacked, or pure stupidity, did not matter. 

Diarmuid was  _ unworthy  _ of her kindness. She should have used that moment to utter the command to end his soul. He had earned that much for his cruelty. "F-Forgive me, I, I have done wicked things to you." He bowed his head in shame, "Master how, how are you not furious with me? I sense no resentment, no anger. You should want my head."

Haley pinched his skin through the fabric of his jumpsuit, "While I-I will admit, I am... afraid of you right now...You could easily lash out again and I might not be able to convince you to spare me next time—" she gulped slowly, "But Diarmuid— that is not truly you. That is that damn curse that after this, we  _ must  _ tackle a lot sooner than I had anticipated. If this ever happened in the Arena..."

Diarmuid brought his fist to his lip, eyes softening "You would still want to do battle by my side, My Lady? You wish to help me still? After what I have done? Even though you fear me?"

Haley swayed, she was so fatigued. She had not slept in three days, had fought numerous battles, and was strangled almost to death while using curse healing magic that drains her of mana. She looked to Diarmuid with droopy eyes, and rubbed his thigh comfortingly, "I promised, didn't I? Even if I'm scared, I will stick by you. The fear of your curse will pass - as long as you want to save yourself."

The Irishman had adjusted himself so he could kneel before her. He knew he had told her he would not, but it was all he knew to do to show his loyalty. "Master, I—thank you. Truly."

"Oh stop that. I'm not a lord or whatever I-m..." She lingered on her breath, "Your friend." 

She stood and extended her hand to him again, so she could pull him up from that ridiculous position. Those times have passed—it was time for him to just...be.

His smile barely pulled his lips upward. So, in the end, she would not indulge in his knighthood. It stung a bit, as most of his honor laid there, but Diarmuid took her outstretched hand in his and let her bring him to his feet. He could not be her friend, but allowed her to say so. He was still... dead, and would not want to obtain any attachments in case he did lose and found himself lost to the Netherworld.

When he stood, he then saw the exhaustion in her face, and wanted so badly to scoop her into his arms and lay her to bed. That expression she laid upon him expressed to him everything. "My Lady, you are tired."

"I am, I really am," She glanced at the television, they had begun their Obstacle Course, "I don't know if you need sleep. But if not, do you think you would be able to handle watching their death race? We really could use the information. Then, whenever I wake up- as long as they don't call us, which they shouldn't since the third Obstacle course is around... I want to take a shot at your curse, if you would let me."

Diarmuid nodded. If she had a way to end whatever darkness infiltrated his heart— he would allow it. He would also do his best to muster enough strength to keep it contained while he studied his…  _ their  _ opponents. His Master was putting so much effort to help him. And after what he had just done: he needed to prove to her he deserved her kindness and forgiveness. 

Yes, he would do everything in his power to defeat this tournament. Because his soul, and his Master, depended on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such an important and struggling chapter for me. I wanted both of them to make so much sense in their desperation. I also tried to stay true to Diarmuid's character while expanding that curse he mentioned with his ever changing emotions. Especially since the curse had twisted her subtle lie into madness. I rewatched that damn scene where he died in Fate Zero over and over to make sure his burdens bled into his despair, here, while also mingling Haley's involvement, however slight. Poor thing. She had no idea it would blow up so bad in her face lol  
> 


	8. Her Magic

Diarmuid studied the screen. He was correct in his assumption that he would not get a good view on all of his potential opponents. He made note of a few that he was able to register in the overview shots that had placed on the screen.

A woman who had speed he believed matched- even surpassed- his own. Another woman who took control of the beasts in the Ring. A man who seemed to "predict" the obstacles.

It was frustrating that a majority of the panels focused solely on the dead on the course. He also wanted to study how the Masters were supporting them, but could barely tell.

He tried to eye Kiritsugu. He half wanted him to fail, and half wanted him to succeed so he could find him later on. He grit his teeth. He had to disregard watching his fate. This was proving more troublesome than beneficial.

He sighed, he needed a break. He eyed his Master, resting in the bed across from him. He had been giving her sideways glances, as she rustled, even in deep slumber. She mumbled troubling words while tossing and turning. Her sleep seemed anything besides pleasant.

He worried that what he had done had caused her to be troubled, even when resting. Surely, he was a monster in her eyes, however kind to him she still was.

Her story had still replayed in his mind. How was he any better than the father who by responsibility was to be her protector...? He himself being her Servant, or Forsaken, whatever it is they called it: was to protect her. Instead, he had been the cause of her turmoil firsthand. He truly was no good a servant, or knight.

He stood over her, and with the tip of his finger, turned her wrist so he could see the hours splayed on the watch. It read, "Sixty four." Ah, so she has been with him for the equivalent of two, almost three days.

He pulled the blanket that had rolled from her in her fidgeting and stretched it over her shoulder. Sitting beside her on the memory foam, he slouched over his knees. He muttered an apology in a hushed whisper for harming her.

He eyed the screen, and watched the flash of "Complete" spread across it. Only one more round of participants to go. He waited desperately for the updated rankings.

He wanted to smash the damn watch. It rang so loudly, that it jolted his Master awake. She had not enough time to replenish herself, and the bags under her eyes confirmed it. She read the notification, a simple update on the Obstacle Course's second round.

"Well, at least we are still technically high. We've been bumped to fifty-ninth in placement out of two hundred and fifty one, now." Haley flipped onto her side, yanking the covers over her ear, "How long have I been asleep?"

"Couple of hours. Master, you need more."

Haley nodded into the pillow, and muttered something incoherently into the plush and then sprung up,

"Wait," She searched through the list of names on the placements list... there was a name that caught her eye but she was too tired to place it. She cursed when she connected the dots.

She looked to Diarmuid who was sprawled on the couch, seemingly relaxed. She took a deep breath, "Kiritsugu made it-" she began and Diarmuid nodded with his eyes pressed closed, the corner of his mouth twitching. Unfortunately, that wasn't all, "And Kayneth El-Melloi."

She flinched when she said his name. Two, now, of people from the fourth Grail War, battling to save their souls from Hell. Two, that have tormented Diarmuid in different ways. 

She unconsciously backed up on the bed. She was not sure if he knew, and braced herself.

Diarmuid covered the back of his eyelids with his arm, clenched his jaw, and grit his teeth. His chest went tight at the name and he held his breath.

 _That bastard, was here, too?_ He thought.A part of him was glad that Hell had brought them with him. That it has given him the chance to duel them again, but on his terms.

He attempted to remain calm. He felt the burden in his mind, but focused on the distressed waves coming from Haley. He let his arm fall into the cushion,

"Fear not, my Lady, I am angry, but not diluted." He watched her regain her composure and lay back into the mattress, the downy sheets draping over her.

Haley had told Diarmuid that they were worse off in rankings, and not to focus on them too much. Hopefully, that was the rest of the ghosts of his past he would have to deal with. 

Diarmuid almost laughed at the idea. He vowed he would no longer be surprised with whom he would see. So many names he knew: from the dead to the Gods.

He insisted she go back to bed, now. He took the watch from her, and with her help: turned the volume down so it would only buzz when a notification came through on his wrist. He was instructed to always check, and if there was anything he didn't understand- to wake her immediately. 

He then persisted she go back to bed. That they would then speak when she was restored to which she obliged, almost instantly falling back into dormancy. Thankfully, this time, she had slept soundly as he watched the final Obstacle Court eventually carry way.

He observed the course intently. This final round had a plethora of opponents to be weary of. There was a particular, hooded woman- who was on the sidelines of the tournament. She had not budged, and the camera longed on her. He attempted to make out her features, but all he could see was that looming grin under the black cloak that had caped behind her. 

The Announcer was blurting about how well a spell caster she was. Her Forsaken had completed the agility flawlessly, and was one of the first to finish. 

There was also a particular tunnel that caught his attention. It was laced with barbed wires they had to slither through. A woman had hardened her skin—unable to be pierced by the prongs—but also the blades that threatened them from above as they sliced into it. 

A particular man, when running a wheel that squirted poisonous liquid, was channeling the poison to the dead around them instead of in him. He truly pondered what other abilities they—or their Detainers—possessed.

Only two alerts vibrated the watch after that. The first: updated placements. To him, it mattered not. The second stated there would be a single, forty eight hour break before the next round in the tournament. They would get further updated the closer to the next, and were free to venture the map. 

Taking advantage now of the free time: he nabbed the pouch from the floor she tossed just before leaping into the bed and identified their coins. The tiny copper was worth 2,000 in currency. Which was fairly decent. If he were not participating in the tournament, and had this amount roaming the underworld it would be enough to hold him over for a month or two of replicated luxuries. Surely it would be enough to get him out of this jump suit he despised, and a meal for his lady who most likely needed nourishment. 

He stepped over to the phone that hung on the wall. If he remembered correctly from when he had been summoned to Kayneth, he could use this to call someone to their residence with food. It would be better than him venturing into the cafeteria without his Master and causing her any more disarray. He plucked the receiver off the wall and eyed the code labeled, "cafeteria" and dialed.

"Cafeteria- how may I help you?"

"Uhm- yes- my Detainer is in need of sustenance. Would this be how I could provide?"

"Have you seen the Menu? Or have an idea in mind? We are capable of replicating any simple dish of any time if that will help you."

The woman's voice was sweet- as she attempted to work with him. He was grateful. While he had seen Kayneth utilize these options, he never quite paid close enough attention to replicate it. 

His face brightened when she mentioned they recreate dishes from different eras. It was something he hadn't thought of- Yes, they were in a world of dead from many different centuries! Of course they would compensate for those like himself.

"That would be much appreciated."

Haley shot up from the knock on the door, and the sound of Diarmuid actually opening the damn thing. Someone was visiting them? Why? 

She frantically looked to the doorway, and saw it was just someone who worked the hotel, with a single, silver tray in her hand. She spoke quickly, fumbling the plate with a blush over her face. 

Haley fell back onto the pillows. His love spot at work again, it seemed. She heard the door cling behind him, and the lock shuttering on. She wondered how he managed to order room service.

"My Lady, I am sorry for waking you. But it has been seventy eight hours since you have been here, and I worry you are famished." Diarmuid said, placing the plate on the stand next to the bed, "I am unsure of what you like, so I with a simple stew from my time. Is that alright?"

Haley sat upright, and smiled, a subtle blush on her cheeks. She snatched the tray from the bedside table and placed it on her lap. The ceramic bowl steamed, and she swirled the spoon in the bright tawny broth. The chunks of lamb bobbed onto some potato. She blew the vapor and slurped a bite and hummed. It was delicious.

"Diarmuid- this was so sweet of you! I love it! Thank you!" She said emphatically, beginning to wolf it down. Always being on the run: she rarely sampled new things.

If he were alive, his own face would be flushed from the delight reflected in her cheeks. All he had done was retrieve her nourishment he assumed she needed. It was a simple gesture, but she was elated. He felt a smile tug at his lips. She was a very simple person to please, it seemed. 

In-between her ravishing bites, they discussed what he saw across the tournaments, and how he felt they should handle field moves since she had admitted she knew nothing about war tactics. 

At the same time, she asked that he think openly about what challenges they may have them face. While she was told they would be doing battle—judging by the handbook—there was going to be more than just one on one fights. The Obstacle Course was proof of that, and he understood.

When she had finished, Haley told Diarmuid it was time she worked her magic on the damn curse that troubled him so. She wanted him to be aware of the entire process, and how intrusive it will be for him.

The psychic would be invading all of his personal thoughts, having access to every memory her magic deemed fit to eradicating the curse. Most likely, conflicting emotions shall arise. Possibly making it detrimental and downright painful for him physically and mentally as she pulled everything the curse centered around and twisted.

Her Knight would also have to be completely open to her prying through his mind, as being inside him that intimately could trigger defense mechanisms in the brain.

Haley informed him it would take a great toll on her mana reserves, as well. Most likely, she would be incapacitated after, so taking the curse apart in sections was crucial. It was also very dangerous to her sanity.

For one: to understand the layers and nature of the curse, she had to accept part of it in herself. She had already done that part, her magic cycling the curse and all was left was utilizing it to enter in him.

It was made aware that in doing so; the woman could lose her consciousness in his, forever being in a coma should he reject her in that process: or should she lose control. Which by the worry in his eyes, she assured him wouldn't happen so long she remained in authority the entire process. No exceptions.

All of this required complete trust in the person, which is why she was so hesitant to perform her magic so soon before. But their situation was dire and the Irishman desperately needed her interference before it progressed any further.

Diarmuid gave her his entire attention, attempting to process what exactly was going to happen for her to remove this curse. It was far more complicated than he had imagined- and he knew it would not come easy.

He was to allow her into the deepest parts of himself, and while that slightly troubled him—being so exposed and vulnerable—he willed the ease to trust her there. He had swore to do whatever it took to win this tournament for himself and for her. This was a requirement to make that possible. 

He had wondered something, though, completely irrelevant to this particular curse. While troubled he would be asking too much from her, he had decided to ask. Test fate.

"Might you also be able to remove the curse of the love spot?"

"Umm..." She stroked her cheek and stood on her tiptoes. She was not short- but he was still rather tall compared to her. "Let me test its origin. I will have to touch you, okay?" 

Diarmuid bent his face forward for her and she knew that was his permission. She tapped the mole with her thumb, and placed her forehead lightly on his. She spoke quietly, 

"Allow me to see." She said to her magic, and the curse stung her cheek. She winced, and tried to read the flow of mana that spilled from it. 

It was in a language she did not understand. The words flowed through her consciousness and snapped her thoughts back. It rejected her completely. She pulled her head from his, and let her hand drop with disappointment.

"I can't. This is no curse. This is a type of magic I am unfamiliar with. It's powerful- too. From what I gathered trying to read it- it's got multiple layers of old spells written in it." 

She took a step back and held her arm. She knows this spot has brought about so much disaster in his life. She felt like a terrible magus, not able to think of a spell of sorts to remove that burden from him. "I'm sorry."

Diarmuid placed a gentle hand on her shoulder,

"Do not be upset, my Lady. While it disappoints me that we could not remove it- I just thought we could try. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Well- most of the people here have surprisingly good magic resistance, so we shouldn't be too worried. If anything, maybe I can try to find a spell to mask it or something if it becomes a problem. At least you don't have to worry about me, since my psychic abilities keep my mind clear of all magic among other things." Haley said, as she sat on the bed, and patted the spot next to her for Diarmuid to sit.

"Oh? That is an exceptional ability. You have not told me." Diarmuid followed her signal and sat beside her. "Are there other abilities you have that I do not know of, my Lady?" He asked, genuinely fascinated by the things she could do with her mind alone. 

He had thought it a simple question, but she had tensed when he asked. He had not meant to pry or accuse her of hiding her strength- if that's what troubled her.

"I do, so while I can't read minds- I can read intentions. So if someone wanted you dead, I would know before they strike. It's an energy people put off that I can read. Then there is-" Haley tapped her heels on the box spring. She paused on the words.

There was that _other_ technique as well, but wasn't sure she was ready to tell him, right now. Especially since it could bring up more mistrust. It even inadvertently caused her bounty. 

She could feel he sensed she had more to say- but was hiding it. That bothered her, though. She did not want him to think she was deceiving him again. This damn ability gave way to too many contradictions. 

"There is something I have purposely withheld from you. I'm sorry, I know it seems like i'm hiding a lot in retrospect but-" She turned her head to look at him, and saw concern, but no hint of suspicion on his face, "But I rarely use it, unless necessary. But, It's not something I am proud of, so-" She eyed the hand that Diarmuid tenderly placed on her lap,

"Will not telling me burden us on the battlefield?"

"No, but I will be honest. If I used it- you would know for one, and two-" she swallowed, "You will not like it. That's.. all I feel comfortable saying. I'm sorry. I hope that doesn't bring us back to where we started."

Diarmuid chuckled,

"Do not fret- You have told me more than you have to. I did take notice of that. However, if you believe it will pain me, will you swear to tell me in time?"

Haley swore that when she was more comfortable, she would tell him everything and anything he wants to know about her. To her: the ability was a curse in itself, and she buried anything that had to do with that power. 

She had lived a long time in solitude, and creating barriers on herself that were hard for her to take down for a single person. She was glad that he was complacent about that. His willingness to accept that even she had her own demons she was constantly facing made it easier to eventually be able to let him in, as well.

"Okay, let's get started on the real problem. I just want to clarify- You will allow me in? Most people do not do well on their first mind in mind encounter."

"I will, my Lady. I hope you find what you need to remove it. I just hope that your opinion of me will not be sullied more by what you may see." His stomach felt like it curled into a knot. She had to endure a rage that resonated deep within himself, and he was grievously sorry for it. 

Now, he was going to openly share that with her again- and was not sure how she would perceive himself after she has witnessed all that is tied with his curse.

Haley's eyes softened, "I have dealt with many curses, and I am familiar with yours a lot more now. If I was worried about what I would come across- I would not be helping you. So don't hang on it too much."

"You are truly wonderful, thank you." He said tenderly, holding onto the hope that whatever she would see would not dissuade her. He saw the blush on her cheeks, he gathered from his compliment, as she shifted in place,

"We might be out for a bit- so lay down. I don't want to fall and break our connection." 

She watched as Diarmuid tentatively laid back, his arms aligning with his torso, as the bed creaked from his sudden motion. She laid next to him and placed her hand at the center of his chest, that steadily rose and fell. She wondered why his body required him to breathe- even though his lungs didn't actually function. Maybe to make sure the basics worked? Well.. whatever.

Her eyes shut, being lulled from the rhythm and she instructed Diarmuid to do the same. 

"Okay, take a couple of slow, deep breaths." 

When he let out his third breath, she pressed down lightly, "Fill." 

She weaved mana, laced with magic through him. He twitched in reaction, and she waited for him to accept the tingling sensation she was sure was mingling with his broken nerves. 

"Now, open your mind by removing any thoughts that are not about clearing your curse," she paused, and began to tremor, she felt Diarmuid stir, "Do not pay attention to my body. Relax, and do it again, from the beginning." 

He inhaled, and she worked her magic again. "Fill." 

She trembled down to her toes. She felt a rage in her head and heart that connected with her soul- and dived in.

Diarmuid's thoughts blackened. They were vast and empty. He internally screamed, but no sound reached the ever expanding emptiness. He was trapped. His senses were in overload. The pain in his mind: it was if he was being hacked away by a beast. 

His flesh felt like there was a hole being ripped into his chest. Something was tearing at him, mangling his body. He wanted to lash out—fight back—however, there was nothing to move. He was empty, and blank. He was a shadow in his own thoughts, being gripped and shredded away by an unknown force deep within himself. 

Fionn's snarky face appears. A sly, venomous smile across his lips. His voice fills the emptiness. Grianne- he stole her from him. Diarmuid felt pure agony. Fionn's animosity flooded his thoughts. He had not forgotten. Diarmuid was dishonorable, and betrayed his Lord! The throbbing he was experiencing was befitting a treacherous man who had no longer held the honorable title of "knight".

_That's not true._

_Haley...?_ Diarmuid thought weakly. Her voice...it resounded in his thoughts as if it were his own. 

His consciousness was jumbled. Conflicted thoughts bounced around his mind. She did not belong here- He was so full. No, that was not true. She was sharing the capacity of his mind. She was permitted to occupy his thoughts.

He mind raced- and cycled back to the ensnared sensation that haunted his entity. He felt a tug that told him to center on her statement. Something was false. However, he did not understand. He felt the emptiness within him slice again. 

Fionn's fury blazed through him a second time. The heinous act of stealing one's lover in his time was punishable by death. The images of Grianne plague his memories. The way she begged him to love her, to run away with her. How he spoiled his relationship with his Lord by taking his betrothed. It was shameful.

 _You are missing things._ She spoke again, and if he had hands- he would shield his ears from her insanity. It mattered not if there was something missing. His actions had spoken clear enough. So why—no—what does this have to do with his curse?!

_Everything._

He could not fathom at all what she could mean. He had not blamed them for his death! He just believed that fate was too cruel.

_I do not choose what the curses show me first. I can only help you work through it by the hints it shows me specifically. Now think, Diarmuid. What are you missing?_

What was he missing? It was preposterous- there was nothing. He was a treacherous man. He had stolen his Lord's wife—and ran away with her—slaying his former friends in the process.

_Why did you steal her, Diarmuid?_

He stole her because he— his thoughts halted. No, it matters not. Whether he willed it or not was unimportant. He had taken her with him and run. He betrayed him! He was not loyal. That will remain true.

_Tell me. Is it truly betrayal when someone forces a spell on you?_

Yes, no. Maybe. He.. did not know. He had never thought to perceive it in that way. 

The memories flash by. Grianne had planted a geis upon him with a kiss to love and run away with her. He initially denied her, but once the spell had been placed, he was trapped and forced to flee. But still: maybe he could have done more. Had he found Fionn and told him the truth- but the Geis was powerful and he had run out of time. 

But he did come to love Grianne, whether it be for the spell or truly for her- the lines blurred. What was the reasoning behind looking back on this? He would not blame them for his death, and Haley was not asking him to. Her voice stated, rolling into his thoughts again. 

He loathed himself for turning his back on the Fianna and his Lord Fionn. He felt immense regret for turning his back on his brethren in the knights realm. However, he was spell bent- and ensnared. He vowed and stayed true to not sully nor touch the woman, it was his last and only attempt to be true to his Lord. He wished Fionn could understand and forgive him. He had tried to stop it and had failed.

_And that's okay. You can't change how people view your situation. You had pleaded for help- your fellow Knights knew. But they kept silent about it and pursued as their Lord had ordered. Plus, betraying Geis usually requires death. It was an insufferable situation all around._

_But Diarmuid- It's okay, to fail. We can't be successful all the time. You must forgive yourself, your decisions and come to peace with the very things you could not control._

Diarmuid felt like he was being suffocated by her words. Forgive himself for which he could not control? It sounded absurd and yet- he had truly attempted to reject Grannie, otherwise she would not have needed the Geis. He believed Fionn would save him from the Boar that had fatally injured him. He had the means to, with the magic water, however he had allowed him to succumb to his wounds.. 

It broke his soul. He had his revenge. Had that not been punishment enough for his choices?

Grief filled the void in his mind. He had not wanted to die. He waited, expecting, _hoping_ Fionn would save him. He had hung on his words, 

"You think I have forgotten about Grianne?" and it followed him in death. Those words drove him to attempt to regain his pride through serving someone else. Was that ambition truly misguided? Was the start to find the redemption he was desperate for- really so simple? It very well be. Yes, his path to forgiveness would only start, if he pardoned himself first.

Diarmuid slowly blinked his eyes open. His chest no longer felt tight, although his breathing was labored. The visions have ended? Was his curse- gone?

No, he could still feel the energy buried deep within himself. He shut his eyes, he had failed. He felt his Master wake and adjusted himself upward. His head ached. That was definitely not what he had expected. 

However, it was not too terrible. Letting her in was a lot simpler than he had imagined it would be. Was it that he had desired for someone to listen—to understand that he could be loyal, and that he had not _tried_ to betray his Lord so desperately—that his conscience accepted her so readily?

Haley's thumb rubbed her temple as it throbbed. She groaned from how wasted she felt. Rolling on to her side, she grazed Diarmuid's arm with the back of her hand into the loose fabric of his sleeve to get his attention.

"I am still deeply cursed, my Lady. I fear I have failed." he stated simply, crossing his legs so he could lean on his fists. To say he was disappointed was an understatement.

"Nah, you actually did great. I'm surprised. Most people push back a lot harder than that." She started, "Diarmuid- I'm -crashing. Your curse needs multiple dips. It is deep- and nasty." 

She went on to explain that the demented evil that flowed in this realm was fueling his curse. To completely take it apart, they would have to destroy the essential nature of it- which would require him coming to peace with whatever else inside his soul fueled it- and that would take time. Lots of it. 

"And if you really think- you failed-" her eyelids started to droop, so she snuggled herself into the fluffed up pillow, "Look in the mirror, will ya?"

He wanted to ask why- but she had already slipped away. It seemed this magic really had sapped her of her mana. He too was feeling the crash. Her magic had powered him immensely, but with her so depleted, he felt more like the dead soul that he was. 

He shook his head. It mattered not. He was not to do battle for a bit- so he did not need the boost from their link. 

After blanketing her once again, he slinked off the bed and went to the bathroom as she instructed. He peered into glass, his dull reflection staring back at him. He flicked the strand of hair that bobbed in front his face. 

What did she want him to see? He explored his features- and his lips parted. The last he had looked- his eyes had been blood red all the way to his irises with a slit down the middle, like the monster he had become. 

However, now, as he draws his fingers to his cheek bone, they shine. Diarmuid hunched forward, his hand finding the glass for support. While the scleras were still painfully red: his cornea's were their original, bright, golden brown hue again. He did not comprehend it.

His curse—however slight—indeed, was lifting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know how I feel about this chapter. Specifically when they go into his past. I don't know if it was the style I wrote it in- or how they conversed in his head. Or how I wrote he came to that conclusion. It's a bit iffy for me. However, this is an extremely important and much needed chapter and start to some much needed healing and story points. I would not mind any constructive criticism on how to make it sound or feel smoother/better. 
> 
> I was thinking that instead of having them converse through, it would be straight paragraphs of their interaction. Or maybe this sounds a lot better than I am thinking and I am being hard on myself. I also worry it would be boring to some people. Any thoughts are appreciated. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Also, does double spacing look better, or single spacing like in previous chapters?


	9. Downtime

Haley slid her gloves off and tossed them into the trash. Her arms and palms were laced with sweat, and it ruined the material. It was rather warm in their room, and she had been nestled securely in the bulky sheets: courtesy of Diarmuid and her constant rolling. She sighed, she rather liked those gloves. 

She tilted her head onto the wall behind her. She had only just woken up, but she felt refreshed even after utilizing so much mana to handle a part of Diarmuid's curse. It was so deeply knitted into his soul that it required major focus. 

Her head slowed to eye her friend on the balcony, seemingly lost in thought. She was worried when she awoke and he was not there. Until a drifting breeze caressed her cheek and drew her attention to the terrace where she saw him idling about. 

She couldn't describe in the right details how charming he looked bent onto that banister gazing at the reproduction of a cluster of stars in what used to be an endless pit of blackness. There was the faintest bit of peace in his handsome expression that she had yet to completely witness since her descent here. It felt wrong to disturb him.

"Might you come join me, my Lady?"

Her shoulders shrugged to her ears. He must have detected her ceaseless marveling. Her eyes found her toes that were still enclosed in her boots. She hadn't meant to stare. It was just so rare to see him so relaxed. 

Letting out a pitiful sigh, she pushed off the wall and found her way to his side. She tentatively placed her hands on the railing and peered over the edge. She could not believe how elevated they were. She inclined her head back, and gaped at how much farther the tower built up. It glistened under the crescent moon that gleamed bright in an unclouded heavenly sky. The Gods had outdone themselves in their flashy representation of the night.

"It's stunning how much detail they put into their work," She said, turning her attention to Diarmuid, whose wavy cut swayed gently in the wind, "Does it ever look like this outside the barriers of the Arena?"

Diarmuid shook his head once, his attentiveness still fixated blissfully on the display before him,

"It does not. The underworld's atmosphere was meant only to reflect shade and gloominess. This would be the first time I have seen such a spectacle since my summoning in the modern era."

"Oh." Haley laid her chin on the knuckles of her hands that she brought together. It was silly of her to think that a dreary hole would invite such elegance into it. 

She felt bad. If he hadn't seen the sky since his Grail War: that meant it's been at least ten and a half years for him. If that were the case, would that mean he has been in Hell's Lobby for five months her time? The Grail's destruction was about that long ago, and the Throne of Heroes broke open soon after.

"I must thank you, my Lady. I would not have been able to experience this again if not for your pact with me. While it may be a trick of the eye by the Gods- it is still breathtaking to behold once more. And I must appreciate the little things as someone once told."

Diarmuid glanced her way to give her a wink with his last statement and her lips perked at the corners. That was unexpected. He always thanks her for the most random of things. He also took what she said seriously about "lightening up" and is actually attempting to find the beauty in all of the little moments that he will experience here. She did not tell him to do that not too long ago. 

She looked up at his eyes, the shimmer of gold finally finding its way back. While the mixture of chestnut and wine pallet made little sense, she was glad that some part of him was returning with the slither of the curse gone.

"Whoever said that sounds pretty cool," Smirking, she nudged his rib with her elbow, "You should listen to them more often. They sound pretty wise."

"I am not so certain- they can be rather unorthodox, sometimes. Like say- mocking their superiors who could easily punish them. I couldn't say that would be wise."

Haley felt the burn in her cheeks. Did he just- make a jab at her? An actual  _ joke _ ? She dramatically grabbed at her heart and gasped,

"How greatly offended they would be if they heard you say such dishonorable things! Surely the person was only acting out in regards to how poorly those superiors treat their lackeys. You should be ashamed!"

Diarmuid's low chuckle rumbled in his chest as his shoulders shook. The entire motion was so surreal to her. When had she ever seen him so at ease? She could have  _ sworn _ she saw more of the red in his eyes retract—but just as quickly as she thought she saw it— it was gone. No, it would not be so easy. 

She eased back onto the railing and watched the glimmering lights twinkle in and out from the Sacred Market. The moment was short- as they relented back into that dose of silence while they admired the impressive display before them.

"While it is much appreciated, I-" His downcast gaze found the brightness of his sleeves as he rolled it up to his elbow, "I cannot simply speak against them. They do hold what little time I have left with my soul in their grips. I wish not to give them reason to retract it sooner..."

He leveled his somber eyes with hers, hoping that he had not offended her. He truly did appreciate her constant disapproval of their treatment of him. However, these very superiors were giving them a gamble that he had not before—and it would be a shame to waste it on such—simple matters as their distaste for him.

Haley reached out, and laid her palm on his shoulder. She couldn't resist. That bleak look in his gander at her begged her for comfort, even if she was sure he would not ask for it. She had not really thought too much into what they would do to  _ him _ in response to her outspoken remarks as much as what they would do to  _ her _ .

She was willing to take the risk for herself- as the rules implied a Detainers' safety is to be guaranteed unless infringing upon rules, they are outside the barriers, or when they were taking part in the tournament's challenges at their own risk. She was unknowingly putting him in much more danger than anticipated, and that stung, because she meant well. She only wanted the Observers and workers to give him the same respect he gave them, because it required little effort on their part.

"I'm sorry- I never really thought of it like that. I'll try to contain myself unless they really push their authority or something."

Diarmuid whispered a thank you, as he turned back to the wind. He felt her hand slip from him. The heat from her touch rescinded, the breeze taking the last bits of warmth away leaving himself lacking again. He wanted to hang on to that feeling- lean in to her support but knew better. If he allowed himself any more, he knew for sure it would lead to no good. So he focused his view of the Dome's crystal like structure glittering under the galaxy above him. 

It reminded him of his nights of hunting, accompanied by his Lord, Fionn and the Knights of Fianna. He felt a gnawing feeling in his chest. He had begun to forgive himself for the decisions he made in the past, however it was still difficult. He still held regret, and having those memories still ever so fresh in his mind brought back lingering senses of doubt that he would be able to. 

He felt his sleeve collapse down his arm again and sighed, "If I may, my Lady, might I make a request?"

"Of course." She replied instantly. 

"If it would not burden you- Would you accompany me to find better suited clothes? I fear these are too loose, and they also have been torn from those contraptions."

Her face perked up. He thought that would burden her? Silly. She loved shopping. She was deeply feminine at heart, despite what she let on. Maybe he meant going with him, and that pained her. His company really wasn't terrible, pardon how excessively he asked permission to do everything. If only he knew he didn’t have to be so formal.

She was still feeling out his personality, though. Was he really just exceptionally polite, or was it that he was so bent around being courtly as a Knight that he put his true nature aside? It was hard to tell with him. Of course, she would take the time to figure that part out. If that truly is who he was: she would accept that part of him, if only he were easy to read.

"I- would be honored to." The chivalry like way she said the words escaped too quickly with her mindset, but the brightness in his expression led her to believe that he was genuinely happy that she obliged in the way that she had. Or maybe because she actually said yes. 

Either way, she needed to shower anyway, and grabbing a set of clothes that fit this underworld's conditions better would be ideal. 

She stretched her arms above her head and turned on her heels to the room. She nabbed his sleeve on the way back, dragging his surprised frame with her. She could have sworn she felt him beaming at her. 

She found the sack of coins and shoved it into her pocket. Turning to Diarmuid she asked if he knew how much it was, and was surprised that they loaded enough. She made note that she hasn't seen the prices of anything yet. The food may have been reasonable, but it was just soup, after all. Clothes might be of another caliber.

Riding the elevator was distressing. As it hummed their way down, it stopped on multiple levels, growing with more dead like himself. Having his enemies linger so close yet not even allowed to so much as lift a finger to protect his Master or himself was troublesome if they indeed tried something. But aside from chatter among themselves, they had not bothered either of them. 

He examined the mana flowing from them. Attempting to get a read on their potential but come up empty. He had reminded himself it's usually the Master's who had the ability to sense their power levels. 

However, when he asked her in mind: she said that they are much more guarded here. Since they are not Servants with such rankings, she hadn't a clue either unless they let their energy leak and they were smarter than that. Which was to be expected. He was assured she was doing the same for him and her own magic.

The Elevator pinged their level, as they stepped into the halls that were brought to life. The metallic walls were bright, tended with lamps that hang off the granite. The round, glittering gold, beaded sham lights hung from the high rise ceilings decorating the hallways to the windows at the edges. 

Their boots clacked loudly on the tiles, then were silenced when they stepped onto the nylon, royal blue carpet that centered the strip. There were no doors to the wide entrances to the shops- as they were open so long the tournament went along. Observer's lined the entrances as security and Haley winked at one of them who gave her a weary glance.

The spot was busy. Diarmuid had not expected so many to be rummaging about. He was not certain where to begin. Haley rang in, said the prices should be where they should start. He nodded and pulled a tag from a sweater sleeve that dangled next to him on a silver rack. 

50 currency. He winced. They only had 1995, but if they wanted a couple of corsets between the two of them- it might tally higher than what he'd like to spend. There was also the point that when he had examined the maps, it was shown they could purchase utensils for the Arena if need be. He could imagine how much  _ that _ would cost them. 

Things outside this domain was definitely cheaper- so to be safe, he had ventured through various luxurious shops with his Master to see if the currency would fluctuate and it was all around the same.

Diarmuid watched as she pranced about, examining all the different fabrics and styles. She made a comment that there were fashions for every distinct era, and almost everything would look decent on herself. 

He almost imagined her in a lacy gown himself but tossed the thought. He saw how she wavered around more modern clothing, and most of what she pitched him to try on for the sake of it still matched a more present-day style or at least- what he was unfamiliar with, anyhow. 

He indulged her, figuring a woman had better taste for design than himself. He looked at himself in the mirror, as she begged him to come out.

"I refuse. You would not approve again, Master."

"Oh come on~! I'm sure you look lovely~!"

Diarmuid gave in with a sigh. They both had not particularly liked any of the new garments that he had tried on. The first were tights so strangling there were features of himself he saw caught wandering stares. The second, were so baggy if he hadn't clutched them to his waist, he would reveal himself entirely a second time. 

Now, the sleeve wrapped his biceps so tightly his muscles looked as if they were being strangled that his breast bone perked out. The pants were alright, he admitted. They buckled nice around his waist and hugged his legs but still left breathing room once it got to the ankles. He pushed the clasp on the door and begrudgingly stepped out.

"Well, at least it's only your muscles that are begging for release, this time around," she exhaled as she placed her fist on her hip and leaned, eyeing his figure, "It's tough. You're really muscular up top but once you get to your waist you tuck in. Hmm." 

She glanced around, what could he possibly wear that would fit his features best? She never really dressed a man before, so she was dumbfounded when he asked her to help him find something. 

She ushered him back in and told him to give her a moment. She wandered to a section and plucked a black, v-neck shirt with cropped sleeves. They seemed wide enough, and it laxed at the bottom, so it shouldn't seem like a blanket at his midriff.

Diarmuid liked it. He tucked the loose fit at the bottom into his pants and it outlined himself nicely. His arms were still fairly tight in the fabric- but it was not suffocating like before. Haley nodded in approval. 

Yes, this in a couple of different colors, would do for casual attire, along with the other accessories he grabbed. If only he could use his currency to purchase armor, but the clerk at the desk explained that could only be obtained in the Arena before designated matches to his disappointment.

Haley was ecstatic it was her turn. Shopping for Diarmuid was almost discouraging and was definitely difficult since she didn't really know what he liked. However, herself was another story. There were so many things that caught her eye, and she wanted to try them all on. Although, she wasn't sure Diarmuid would want to spend hours on her fickleness, so she only grabbed what she would be sure to buy if they were acceptable. 

She debated showing him. Would he want to give his opinion on how she looked in the clothes she tried on? She fidgeted, and pulled the sweater off. No, she was so lanky- and didn't have girlish features for him to speak on, anyway.

"My Lady, is everything alright? You have been there for a while."

"Oh yes! I have only one more to try on then I will be right out!"

Diarmuid rested his back at the corner of the door, and folded his arms. There were Detainers lounging on the benches across from him, and he turned his face. They also were waiting for their companions to come from the lockers. 

He debated actually conversing with them- but didn't want his Master coming to find him mingling with others. She had focused her entire attention helping him figure out what to wear, so he figured he'd return the favor. 

However, as he glanced at the door, she had not asked his opinion. He was not sure to feel relieved that she would not stress him to comment on her looks- or disappointed she did not trust his opinion. Knowing that she still had one more thing to test, he pushed off the dressing room and went to grab just one more thing.

"Diarmuid?" She clicked the door behind her, the clothes she decided on hanging over her arms. Where did he go? Was he tired of waiting for her? She didn't think she was in there that long. 

Nervous something happened, she asked one of the Detainers who shrugged her off. When turning, she practically bumped into his chest that perched in that top he had bought. "Oh, hey, sorry. Where did you go?"

Diarmuid cradled the back of his head with his arm,

"Apologies, My Lady. I thought I had more time before you finished." he smiled, "Could you come with me?" 

He led her to the corner of the store she avoided because most of it was sleeping wear and heavy clothing. He grinned as he held his palms out to a display.

Haley gawked. She rolled her bottom lip in her mouth, and bit. Was he serious? She would look  _ awful _ in that dress. It was so thick, and long. It was braided with lace in the front, and the collar extended so low it would expose her mediocre chest. 

She glanced at Diarmuid's merry expression, and bit her lip harder. How could she deny him. He was at least trying.

"I will-" she hesitated, maybe if he saw how terrible she looked in that, he would change his mind, "Try it on and show you.."

Diarmuid's grin extended ear to ear,

"I am just teasing, Master."

Haley let out a breath and smacked her thighs. Thank goodness! She did  _ not _ even want to entertain that disastrous thing in front of her.

"You're terrible!"

Diarmuid appreciated she would have honored his recommendation, relinquishing his previous worries. What he truly wanted to show her were the boots he had hidden in the pleat of the dress. He pulled them out and handed them to her,

"I do not believe these to be your size," The astonishment in her eyes bore into him, "But I thought this to be befitting to replace your footwear as your current attire seems rather old and torn."

She delicately took them into her hands and examined them. Yes, they were not her size- there were a fraction too small, but they were mid rise, and had laces that tied down from the top just before the tip of the toe. They were flat at the bottom, with just enough cushion- just how she liked them. 

Her eyes softened. This was the first time anyone has ever thought of her. She had been confined for almost her entire childhood. Only being rewarded for her strengthening efforts that required so much agony beforehand. To then be on the run for so long- that she hadn't had a chance to make any lasting kind of companionship. She gripped them tightly to her chest,

"I love them."

He had not predicted... that her gratitude would reflect so brazenly across her features. Her crystal eyes gleamed and the gratefulness in her smile: it tugged at him. He had never thought with his Lovespot, that he would ever witness such raw emotion on a woman. His heart stilled, and he turned away,

"I am glad, Master. We should- locate your size."

He had been quiet the entire way back. She wondered what was going on in his mind but didn't want to pry. She accepted he had moments like that. Times where he was allowing his personality to shine through, and times where he became reserved and closed off from her, and possibly things around him. He became distant, forlorn. 

Sometimes, she thought he had intentionally detached himself. She had settled that he had much inner turmoil to shift through still. Plus, he was still battling to save himself from Hell, and it didn't help that the damn curse was being twisted by the underworld. 

All this meant was that she had to continue pushing herself to remove it. To finally grant his soul freedom from the turmoil that was being amplified in his heart.

It was her turn to take the sofa. He deliberated with himself if or not it was necessary. The furniture was highly suitable for him, and he had gotten used to its shape. When he laid into the mattress, though, he had realized the bed was much more convenient and relaxing. 

The watch vibrated, then. The jolt alarming him. He brought his wrist up and tapped the alert as Haley showed him. It was simple, and splayed on the screen. 

_ All Detainers and their Forsaken were to report to the Arena, seven hours from now for their next challenge.  _

It blinked out, and the amount of time she shared with him in the underworld appeared before him. 

A chill went down his spine. The notification reminded him that while today had been rather pleasant, he was still looped in a tournament that would decide just how long that lasted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some much needed fluff on fluff hahaha


	10. Round 2 - Begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Arena designers are assholes, just sayin. Or maybe it's the writer. I dunno. But Archive warnings apply to this chapter.

His Master hadn't even moved. But still, the woman deflected Diarmuid’s every strike. So he rolled, and attempted to side arm her from behind. His body felt a breeze, after being flung back. Mighty hands yanked a tile from the roof top and whipped it to her head—but the telekinetic flicked it away. A distraction, mostly, as he closed in quick: arm stretched for her shoulder to pull her back—

"Freeze!" Haley’s eyes slanted with a devilish grin. "That was cute. You thought you had me."

"You uh- did not move your hands." Diarmuid’s smooth voice skipped on the words. It was quite awaked for him—still frozen in air—arm outstretched. He wiggled in her mental hold. "Put me down?"

Dainty shoulders shook while the psychic laughed. Carefully, she adjusted her Knight’s body so his feet would touch first. Triumphantly she crossed her arms along her chest. This style was Haley’s forte, not going fist to fist with a man three times her size in muscle and speed.

Every time she thought to duck—or to block—his knuckles were much too close. After consistent failure, Diarmuid insisted she use her mind and it clicked. If Haley could not get a clean shot with her hands, then why not utilize her gift to undercut his own?

The tactful Warrior scolded she was too slow, and scrawny—however, she still read him like a book. Utilizing that idea worked like a charm. Reading his movements and deflecting them with her mind and then utilizing those openings to make an enhanced jab? Magic. She owed Diarmuid. He was clever.

"I don't need my hands. They just help amplify my precision, or movements. I can move things perfectly fine just by eyeing or predicting."

Diarmuid was impressed. She grappled with him well—Those abilities she possessed made her tough stuff. He had not realized how intelligent the woman was. With some adjustments to her approach, she performed well.

If he could not get close- it mattered not how well she could handle a weapon, or how she utilized her fists. If he could not find a way to infiltrate her defenses, then most likely others would struggle as well. 

He stood tall, as the wind blew his hair back. He was grateful for this opportunity to test her skills. The rooftop of the Hotel had been vacant, and it was colossal enough for him to take advantage of the space to test her range.

"I must say, for someone who is not well versed on the battlefield, your counters are sublime."

"You think so? Thanks!” Her eyes sparkled, he realized, whenever she was elated. A reflected shine like the moon hovering over the deep ocean. 

He leaned back on the pavement and peered over his shoulder to the Dome in the clearing. Forsaken, as they called him and the others, were pooling into the Arena. He should not be gawking at her, he should be focusing on training her on advances so she could be better prepared. 

He glared at the watch, her training session was over, though. They had to report. He let out a low spirited sigh. He was rather enjoying their duel. He hadn't enjoyed that since Ar-

The watch buzzed, and he slipped it off his wrist. Haley poked her curious nose over his arm to get a glimpse,

"What's it say?"

"Last call. Any who are late or are no shows will be stripped of their souls. No exceptions."

"Yikes, you read that word for word?" She tapped his shoulder as his lip curled at the corner and linked the watch over her hand and adjusted the bracelet. It was time to go. 

She heaved, as he nodded at her. Another round. She was not sure if she was ready. To gamble with his soul again. Because that was what this was: a damn gamble. His curse was the easy part in all this. Something personal- trivial. But his soul? 

After what he told her, about trying to stay low, to avoid confrontation, so he could hold on as long as possible. That hit her. Deep. That was partly her responsibility and that was terrifying. He could be gone in a second- and it would be her fault. 

She had thought this would only be a battle that she supported him from the sidelines on. Where the majority of this resided on his own strength. Instead- it was a game that required her to participate as well and that was worrisome given her lack of experience head on. She called him her friend, and losing him because she was incapable was something she really didn't want to linger on.

\------------

Of course they wouldn't allow him to wear the clothes he bought. They were meant for lounging. In the Arena, he was to wear the damn jumper. So that way the audience could separate the Detainers from the Forsaken. At least this time, he could get his clothes back when the rounds were over. Should he survive. 

He peered over to Haley, whose back was to him so she would not see him exposed as he changed. She gripped her forearm, finger tapping it rapidly. He worried. She was to join him entirely in this next challenge. They had sparred for little over an hour, and while she showed promise, was she ready to fight all of these magically enhanced spirits and send them to Hell?

"Alright. For this challenge, if you have a weapon you would like to summon to the Arena, please place the details into your watch. You are allowed a single weapon between yourself and your Detainer. Details do not matter. " An Observer called.

Diarmuid's and Haley's heads perked simultaneously. Haley dropped her chin to her shoulder, asking him if he was dressed. He was. She whipped to him. They could have weapons! That was- actually horrifying. What would they need weapons for? No matter- They were allowed two! Which meant that he could get his weapons back. She thinks. Their details were vague- like they always were.

She started typing on the screen. He would have his sword, Moralltach, and his spear, Gáe Buidhe. It made most sense. He did not need the defense buff from his other sword, as Haley's performance was substantial when aiding in support giving what she had shown him. And passing up the opportunity to inflict wounds that would not heal was a bad idea. 

Plus- Haley needed a weapon and it was fairly user friendly. Diarmuid did mention that they have no blood- so most wounds that would have the opponent bleed out would most likely result in auto death for their bodies. However, if they were allowed to target the mages-

Haley flinched. She was in just as much danger, so his protection was necessary. But what was the Arena this time? They had not mentioned anything besides the Detainers were going to accompany them in battle- and this time, they were allowed to kill each other. 

Her lip rolled under her teeth and she looked around the locker room that was under the stadium. So many threatening opponents. Some that were not even human- given the state they were in from the curses that were infused within them. She skimmed the room for Kiritsugu or Kayneth, but they coward about elsewhere. 

She was sure Diarmuid would look for them in the Arena if it allowed it. She had no idea how that would end up but hoped the curse he was burdened with wouldn't surface. She warned him that avoiding them would probably do them better until they took care of it. He did not respond. 

Dangerous. She remembered stating he was nothing of the sort, but after he attacked her... She now understood why they handcuffed them.

The screens in the room blipped on and the Announcer was narrating the show to the audience once more. Haley sucked her teeth. She hated how joyous that woman was about sending their souls into this ring of madness. The panel shook, and the woman showed the Arena. 

It was draped in on all sides and the top was covered. The fence that surrounded it that was sectioned off- completely gone. The entire Dome, from the start to the mile and mile end open to explore. However, it was shadowed. There was no way to see what exactly lay in the Arena for them to challenge.

Haley and Diarmuid gave each other weary looks. That was extremely suspicious. Another rumble- The Announcer geared the crowd. It was time to start, but not without a final message to the Detainers and their Forsaken,

"While they figure out the secrets of the Arena- there is a twist! The Detainers shall be stripped of all magical abilities! Now go- Conquer the Arena, Detainer's and their Forsaken! You shall know your goal once you arrive!"

They teleported. Appearing in a dark, damp tunnel. The Announcer's words rolling in her mind. Thankfully- she never fully utilized those magical abilities. So she wouldn't be able to enhance him or herself- that was fine. 

But where were they? She could barely see anything. She listened- there was a quiet echo. She heard water dripping somewhere. Attempting to stand- she rubbed the walls- they were cobblestone, lit with fire that hung on the grey walls. It was like a medieval crypt.. She looked to Diarmuid, who was gazing at his empty palm.

"Diarmuid? What is it?"

"I am weakened. Without your magic flowing within me, my body is lackluster. I cannot perform the miracles I had before."

Right. She forgot that sharing her mana with him enhanced his performance. He was definitely faster- and capable of jumping higher- among other things. But now? She wondered. 

It was alright, though. That meant the others were feeling this as well. Maybe they did that to make it easier on the weakened Mages to fight back. She was unsure. But that reminded her. 

She eyed his back, and his waist. There, in the straps, were his spear and his sword, just as promised. They weren't completely helpless. She attempted to talk to Diarmuid in his mind- but no response. That must have been possible through the magic of their bond. 

She really didn't want to say what she was thinking. In case their voices are amplified or something to those watching. She looked to the flame, a simple twitch of her eyelids. It swayed.

He stood and examined the walls. They had two directions they could go in. Backwards or forwards. Each end blackened as it curved further along the way. He felt the flow of the wind, and watched the flames. They should go left, towards the breeze. That would hopefully be an exit. 

Haley agreed, and he carefully strolled down the tunnel with her extremely close to him. These were usually laced with booby traps, and after the first round in the tournament- they obviously were not above them. However, their journey was halted not by a trap but by a large room filled with- torture tools? His eyebrows came together and Haley gasped.

"They- can't be serious. If there is no magic," She looked to Diarmuid, "If either of us get seriously wounded by these things..." 

Her watch buzzed and she practically leaped out of her skin. She glanced at the message and she felt the color leave her body. 

"No way! That's insane!" Her balance shifted, as the tunnels walls behind them collapsed simultaneously, sealing them in. She swayed, and swore the room spun. She felt Diarmuid's palm, steady on her shoulder as he spoke in a concerned whisper,

"What have they instructed us to do, my Lady?" He asked, but he knew the answer.

"We.. We have to each complete two of these devices, to retrieve the reward to escape."

Those sadistic bastards. This was just pure evil, and they dare call themselves Gods if they are entertained by it? 

Haley clenched her fists at her sides and strutted over a single device laid out on a table in the center of the dim room. She felt beads of sweat form at her temples. 

An arm strap. There were long, skinny to thick blades around the clasps. What would completing this entail? Would she- risk losing an arm for him? Risk it for her father and the other pursuers to forget her existence? 

She looked at the other tools- some would take her life completely if she failed, and not quickly, either. But what was a couple more times being tortured to her, anyway?

"My Lady, this-" his eyes shifted around the room in remorse, "It is too cruel. You need not torment yourself for me. Use the Seal to escape to where you'll be safe."

"Diarmuid... you want to save yourself, right?" She asked, still fixated on the stupid contracption in front of her.

"Yes but to what end- I am not sure. This," His eyes lowered, "This involvement of you should not be so brutal." 

He glanced around the room again. Why not only allow him to utilize these horrendous contraptions? He was sure they would heal him just fine. He was not afraid of pain, and it would all be over eventually where in Hell- he would be tortured for eternity. 

In this moment, though, he did not know what was worse. His endless torture if they backed out right here- or watching this woman who had stuck by him so kindly thus far be tortured for his and her own goals?

"Will you do.. the more horrendous ones?" She felt terrible asking him that. She was a coward, and for sure he would hate her for suggesting such a thing.

"I- would but... My Lady- you mustn't even consider this! Even if I were to-"

Haley cursed, as she squeezed her eyes shut and slapped her arm into the tube. She heard Diarmuid gasp. He begged her to stop- to escape, but it was too late to turn back now. 

She prayed that those Healers were as incredible as the text mentioned. They wouldn't make them do these horrific acts and leave them crippled afterward. It would ruin those God's damn fun of the whole thing. She could only imagine if others were faced with this ludicrous "challenge". Surely plenty of Detainers dropped out at the sight of this. 

She hissed when the tube clenched her with razor-like fangs that sunk into her arm. She couldn't move it, and her fingers trembled. She grit her teeth. What was the trick of this trap?

The last, single blade slanted down and dug into her arm. She screeched, but it didn't slice deep. Her teeth were grinding. She debated using her gift, but feared using it to force the contraption open would not give them the reward. 

So she glowered at it. Blades along the edges. Teeth sinking into her skin. Each blade gets thicker- to eventually hack off her arm. Was she to wait until it severed it? No, she would bleed out for sure. She had to think, what is the answer? 

She looked to Diarmuid for help, and he examined it around the edges as best he could. There were six numbers. Another blade sliced into her arm and she practically shredded her arm out. Diarmuid pointed out the numbers that had tiny arrows pointing downward- and asked her to see if they connected with anything.

Frantically, she checked, and saw the arrow pointed to tiny nobs. She used her free hand to twist the cap, and it clanked onto the floor. The teeth on the first strip released her arm by the elbow. She immediately went for the second notch, but when the cap came undone- a random blade slashed down and she screamed.

Diarmuid hovered over her and told her to stop. He wasn't worth all this. She flailed her free hand, gesturing to him to step back. She stared, the blade that was aligned with the number two, while the first was not matched with anything. 

Okay, so do the knobs correspond with blades? She tried the fourth notch, and unscrewed it. The teeth unbuckled from her arm again. There was only one more set left. The rest of the knobs all aligned with blades. Which one freed the last set of teeth? 

The third blade swung and her teeth dug into her lip. Each blade.. corresponds with a clasp... so she was forced to have one more dig into her- she twisted the third nob. The third blade swiped down again and her head almost ducked into the machine from the pain. The same gash being struck again, her skin and muscle peeling. The tube unlatched completely, and one of the blades' shape shifted into a key that flung out.

Diarmuid caught the newly transformed key that ejected from the machine. He watched as Haley pulled her arm out and slung it to her chest. Why? Why would she succumb herself to these torture devices? 

He was not worth her suffering. But she had done it anyway- she could have lost her arm. Bled to death. He examined her injuries- the gashes were deep. He tore her sleeve and wrapped it around the wounds with enough pressure to help stop the bleeding. She winced. He ripped his sleeve as well to add an extra padding.

"Three... more to go." She attempted to give him a wry smile, "And if you suggest we do anything else after what I have just tolerated-"

"Never, My Lady. I only wish- that you tell me why you go to such lengths for me if we survive this round."

She twitched, the pain still ringing in her arm. She let it lay to her side, and pat Diarmuid's chest. There was no reason other than her promising to save him- and herself. The guilt of not following through was too much to bear for her. Not after hearing those words, last night.

If she had not come here, his soul might've lasted a lot longer than it could in the Arena. She overheard some of the conversations in the locker room. Some of those souls had been in Hell's lobby for years, avoiding the damn shadows. He could have done the same. Losing here.. puts a rush on that. And it would be her fault. She would not accept that.

"We really don't have to wait. You already know. Plus," she shifted on her heels eyeing the next torture puzzle, not meeting his eyes, "I am... used to this."

"My Lady... I..."

Diarmuid had not known what to say. Her answer was simply to save him, then. 

There was also that matter of her father. He walked over to the tool he would attempt. She had endured madness from the man she called a parent. He had tortured her for years to strengthen her abilities, so she had said. To be accustomed to such awful things, he did not want to think what the man had done to her... or for how long. 

Well, if she was all in- he would be too. If he harbored any other doubts about this woman, he would bury them deeply. 

He gulped, then unhitched his weapons and pressed his back onto the board that stood tall, with doors that cranked at the sides with spikes. Belts latched across his wrists, throat and locked his feet together. He had to tilt his chin up- to not be strangled. 

His eyes slid to Haley, who nibbled at her thumbnail. The board turned and the wall across from them creaked as it pulled down, revealing knives. Two immediately flung to the left of his head, scraping his ears. He attempted to pull free by stretching forward, but more knives rushed him, stabbing into his legs, and arms.

At the corner of his eye, he saw Haley stifle a scream. He ordered her to stay back. He did not know when another blade would aim for him. She would not be collateral damage. The doors creaked as they closed an inch. 

He glanced at the wood, and the strap binding him. Could he just rip free? He attempted, but four more blades lodged into his arms and legs. two for each. No, that was the second time now when he struggled that the knives came for him. 

The door inched closed again, threatening to crush him. He turned his head to the door on his left. Surveying it for any clues. There was a symbol that he didn't understand and eyed Haley. He asked if she recognized it. She carefully looked at it and nodded. It was arrows forming a circle. It meant, "spin." 

She tentatively pushed on the board that bound him and it indeed turned as knives shot out and stabbed into a blank spot above his head. So he was to adjust this? He arched his weight into the side, and the plank turned with him. A single knife shot at him and pierced his left collar bone.

He let out a growl, and analyzed the knives before him. So long as he did not lean forward to pull away, only a single knife would come for him, then. If he were to escape, as the doors arched inward again, he would need the blades to slice the leather that held him. 

He managed to lean his weight left, turning it just enough that it made a "click". A strap came undone and he looked at it- wide eyed. No, he wasn't to align himself with the knives, he was to find the correct position. 

He attempted once more to arch the board but it was locked in place from the right side. Alright, that would not work. He eyed the distance between himself and the knives across from him. Were they shooting at him at random? It seemed likely. 

He pushed back on the board, and it leaned back with him. A single knife flung and filled his right collar bone. He clenched his fist. He had a free arm, with three knives. Could he utilize it? He brought it to his lips and bit onto the handle, pulling it from his skin. Nothing happened, besides the grinding of the door inching closer to locking him in. He would risk it- He grabbed the knife and sliced.

Haley caught him as he fell from the board. She placed him on his back and dragged him from it before any more of those knives aimed for him. A particular knife in his collar bone shape-shifted into a key. She plucked the others from him with her good hand and sat him up. He was okay, thank goodness. Two. They completed two death traps. They both stood at the same time, but Diarmuid gripped her hand in his,

"My lady, let me take on another. That way- you will only have to suffer a second if I succeed. Please, let it be so."

She eyed her hand in his. It shook with worry, "Okay. But I swear to God, Diarmuid, if you fail the damn thing on purpose or something so I won't have to-"

Her icy glare told him she was serious. He pulled her hand to his heart, to prove the same,

"I swear on my honor, I will do everything I can to prevail. I will not waste your first efforts."

After reluctantly letting her hand go, he meandered to his final pick out of the damn lot of insanity as his body ached. He was not trapping himself again. This time, he would retrieve the key from the box. How was the question, however. 

Haley slowly came up behind him with his weapons in tow. He debated asking her if her mindful powers worked. Would they count that as a win on their part? No, he would not ask her to do such a thing. Too great a risk lacking the reward. 

He focused on the glass. It had two weapons attached to opposite corners. An axe and a knife. Was he to choose one to break it apart? It felt too simple. He walked around it, searching for other entrances. In each part of the block- there were single, small holes.

It was too tight for him to fit his hands in. He grabbed the knife, and steam puffed inside the block. He groaned, because it sounded like the key shifted inside with a clang. He wedged the blade into the hole, and the glass made a crack that made a whistling sound so sharp his head hurt. 

He looked up and saw that Haley shrunk into her shoulders as she heard it as well. The more he shoved it, the worse that sound became. However, the glass cracked, and broke apart. He pulled the knife free, and inserted his hand to feel for the key and let out a yelp. 

The glass reformed and dug into his wrist. He grimaced, if he tried pulling back, the glass retracted with him, digging in further. Making matters worse, the smoke seeped out, and began making him extremely dizzy. Was it poison? He hacked, no turning back now.

He jammed his arm further in, the shredded glass burrowing further and pat down the bottom of the glass. It was flat at first, but now, it was layered with needles that splinted his fingers as he drilled through. He grunted finally feeling the key in the sea of spikes. Now if only he could get his damn arm out. 

But his vision was blurring. He felt his knees begin to quiver. He was going to collapse and saw through his own damn arm in process. He eyed the axe. Would it work? Was he mad? He utilized his strength to grab the axe and smashed its handle into the glass that was ripping through his skin. It didn't budge. He flipped it and tried the blade side. Nothing. 

He clenched his jaw. He could not think straight. Was there another way? He almost rammed his body into it. Haley's voice, he could barely understand her. Something.. about.. side.. He took the axe and jammed the handle into the hole. 

The glass cracked- and connected to the gap that held his arm hostage. He ripped the handle and hovered over the box and did the same in the hole on the back. One more, he wavered and shoved the handle deep in the opening and the entire cube shattered as he collapsed.

He wasn't breathing. Had he inhaled too much of the gas? Did he even have functioning lungs? Did they work in _any_ type of way a regular person's would? He was dead, but he had a heart beat. But it was because of her magic. He didn't have one- anymore, did he? 

Haley felt his chest, there was not a hint of a heart if he had one. She pumped his chest anyway. She ignored how her arm screamed in pain from the motion, blood pooling from her reopened wounds. She pinched his nose, parted his lips, and blew as much as her lungs could handle. And repeated.

"Come on, Diarmuid. Come ON!" She pressed, once, twice, thrice, pinched, and blew, "Please! Open your eyes!"

She pressured his chest again, and looked around. No shadows were coming for his soul. Was that a good sign? Or were they waiting until the end of the damn round before gathering his soul? Damn it all. Not like this. 

She felt the tears burn her eyes. He was not supposed to- A clang caught her attention. It rolled to her thigh. It was a round pump with a strange symbol on it. Where did that...? 

No time to wonder, she knew what this was for. She snatched it and broke off the clasp. She pulled the wire and dangled it down his throat. Pressing the material, his chest puffed, and the haze that was in his body pulled back into the container. She pulled it from his throat and hard pressed his chest again,

"Come on, Diarmuid- Please- BREATHE!"

He inhaled harshly and rolled over, hacking, as more of the poisonous steam exited. He brought his hand to the ache in his head. What- He had not a clue what just happened. He felt Haley's embrace and stiffened.

"Oh my god- I thought- I thought you were gone! Diarmuid!"

"Oi, I- I am alright, my Lady. Though, my arm is useless."

Haley smacked her forehead. _That_ was what he had to say? She pushed off of him. Ridiculous. The way his eyebrows scrunched together, and the line his lips parted in. He had no idea what they had done to him, and she was pissed.She clenched her jaw. They would not take him from her like this. She needed to finish her last obstacle. 

She eyed the pump that disintegrated. Someone was looking out for them, she gathered. She had not expected that so soon, but was _not_ going to complain. Whoever that was- they saved his soul. 

She looked around the room. What could she do that was simple? Easy? Something she can complete easily. The glass case seemed easy- but it damn near took Diarmuid away. She eyed him reattaching his weapons to himself, one armed.

If only she could heal him. He had so many lacerations on his body, and now he was plucking the shards of glass and needles from his skin. She sighed. None of this was going to be- She saw a tank and had an idea that was borderline cheating.

Haley stripped herself of her clothes- despite Diarmuid's disapproval. Having a sweater and jeans was not going to make a difference. She had no armor, it would not protect her. If this was going to have any type of liquid- she was not going to have her clothes be drenched and be at risk for hypothermia again if this level continued. 

Only covered in her lingerie- She inhaled and stepped into the glass barrel. It immediately latched shut, a barrier between herself and Diarmuid, who averted his eyes from her semi- naked body. 

She clutched her waist as freezing cold water pooled from the bottom up to fill the tank. Her toes curled, and she grit her teeth from the pain. Her eyes glided around the enclosure searching for the key. This tank did not have any hidden chambers that would lead her to believe it would be concealed.

Her teeth clattered- she would freeze. The water waved at her belly button. She took a deep breath- and dove into the water. It slapped her face, but she willed her telekinesis ever so slightly to separate the water from herself and fingered the floor of the tank. 

The water was flooding in from the tiniest of a drain. The water began to harden around her, limiting her movements. She struggled, her pinky digging into the hole as the water crystallized around her. She just needed… a few more seconds! 

She felt the key, sliding underneath her fingertip. It was hard to grip it with just one curling finger. Her breath was about to go out, she was losing air. She eyed the hole, and made it part and twirled the key into her pinky and pushed her back up. Diarmuid was watching her, his eyes wide. The water had become almost complete ice- But she kicked with all her might- and the ice shattered.

Haley's shivering wouldn't halt. She was red from the toes up. But they had 4 keys. She clothed herself and wrapped them tight around her, trying to find warmth. She almost asked Diarmuid to cradle her but knew that was useless. He had zero body heat, and the look on his face told her enough. 

Her watch buzzed, and through quivers, brought her wrist up to see what the message was.

"Eh? Detainer; c-c-c-hoose your- door?" Haley questioned allowed, and the chamber groaned. The ground rumbled under her feet. 

Diarmuid yanked her into him from her arm and leaped back with her as the floor opened up and three pillars rose from where she stood. They were labeled in roman numerals of 1, 2 or 3. 

She felt Diarmuid drop his hold of her arm and she took a step to the doors. They glanced at one another. The watch began to loudly tick. The enclosure around them began collapsing. 

She quickly skimmed the doors. There were no differences from what she could tell. Diarmuid shook his head, he hadn't a clue either. Which one, then? "UH! Okay! Two weapons, two torture devices each, two souls, screw it. Door number 2!"

The door swung open, air blasting out almost blowing them back. Diarmuid gripped her by the waist and pulled her into him again by the back of her head, shielding her from the whirl. It then sucked them into a black void.


	11. Terrible Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adding side of side characters is a pain in the butt- especially when there are so many. lol But the round just keeps going!

Haley had not thought there could be worse than a torture chamber of devices they had to utilize of their own volition. Of course there could be worse, and the struggling woman was at the brunt of it.

Quivering hands splayed across the Heroic Spirit’s chest. Was that his heart thundering under her palms? Was it powered by the magic in their link? Or was it the diamond she implanted that started the organ once more? More questions to wonder later.

Diarmuid inched closer. His teeth were bared like a snarling canine, as the woman’s feet slid back despite her desperate pleas. If a fraction of what she removed of the corruption within him return—the Irishman would not be manageable again. If only there were more time to spend on it. But there were so many layers—

"If you cannot control your Forsaken, then you should rethink your role in this competition."

Haley’s head whipped with a glare.. the jackass spewing such nonsense was partly responsible for Diarmuid’s...condition. And now he was antagonizing him on purpose. A strategy to have Diarmuid eliminate himself probably, and it was working. Should either her or the raging Spirit attack this man now.. they would be disqualified for breaking the new damn terms.

That emotionless man was viciously sly. Given his history, this shameless tactic should of been expected. Easily predicting his opponents and having their own moves do themselves in was their enemy’s strong suit.. Which required little effort on his part. If she were on his side: she might've agreed with him, however dirty it was. Sometimes wits take out brawn.

"I will have...your head...!" Diarmuid practically snarled.

The smirk that went across Kiritsugu's face had Haley’s skin crawl. She would deal with Diarmuid's rage for days on end rather than that disgustingly demented man. She wondered how much of this he was enjoying, as his son stood at his side,

"Father, do you really have to be like this? Maybe you should lighten up a little..."

At least his son had some sort of good spirit looming around him. Strange how such an orange top would come from such black hair that spiked at each end of his dad's head. No wait, that was right. He was adopted.

The woman let out an exasperated sigh. This was getting out of hand. She stared up at Diarmuid whose jaw clenched and teeth ground so hard he'd probably break them. At least it didn't bleed down from his eyes, again. There was some sort of control in his madness.

She brought her hand to his cheek and he sneered like it burned him, "Please, we'll throw away everything if you do anything. Save this for when the rules allow it, okay?"

Diarmuid's line of sight drifted to Haley's pleading eyes. His cheek melting in worry from the heat of her palm. His eyes found the monster before him and he straightened. He inhaled, his chest puffing up and turned his back. He had to stifle his anger. _Temporarily_. 

The Knight pledged to himself he would not witness that look in his Master's orbs ever again. That horror she held for him in that state— it was raw and he felt distasteful for it. Almost disturbed. Last he wanted was to be the cause of her panic in any way. Not after all she had succumbed herself to for him. 

Ears registering her breath go out, Diarmuid adjusted his sword at the belt. He truly despised all of these rules that kept him from challenging his opponents.

Haley gripped her forearm while resting her chin in the corner of her shoulder. The tension in Diarmuid's aura finally eased, and it left her to think of what led to this mess. Seemed they had to work together as a team with half of whatever dead were left. The damn door she picked just chose whose team she'd be a part of.

If they were halved- did that mean one of those doors led to their death? Ridiculous. Now _luck_ is playing a role in this? Of course their luck led them to be dropped next to Kiritsugu. What even were those odds? There were at least a hundred dead here.

She wiggled her arm- that phantom feeling of injury still lingering. The void that tunneled them here mended their wounds and warmed her body temperature. 

This was also going to be a test of Haley’s character. If they could find a way to sink that ship.. They wouldn’t have to worry about striking a Detainer dead. Or maybe the Detainers would avoid fighting. You know, for their own safety considering they’d be empty of magic. Anything would be better than having to end anyone for good. 

Haley did not like it one bit that these competitions required them to fight the people defending the true players in the game. If she were being honest with herself, she wouldn’t have considered the competition if she knew that the living souls were in danger of being axed in the fights. It just… wasn’t her way of doing things, competition or not.

Crossing her legs, the woman sat on a plank of wood. There was a slight breeze that swayed chestnuts locks, as she gazed over the ship's edge. The water glistened under the sun rays. How the God's managed to create an old pirate ship and the ocean while in the Arena was beyond her. This was some complicated magic. 

Azure eyes peered up and saw the camera that was hovering over them, spin off elsewhere.

"So, he is okay now?" The boy, Shirou, asked, eyeing him cautiously, taking a seat next to Kiritsugu who lounged back into a barrel.

"I am fine. You needn't worry," Diarmuid's eyes slanted, "For now." 

He stepped away from them. Any more conversation and he might go back on his word, and that would do damage to his honor. Much more than it already had. There had been enough reminiscing with someone heavily involved—and partly responsible—for his second death. 

He raised his eyebrows to his Master, who did not budge. Would she stay behind, then? The Lady gave him a slight nod and his chest fell. He would give them their space, then.

Shirou leaned into his father's shoulder, who dragged out a breath of smoke from his cigarette, "What did you do to that guy?"

The way Kiritsugu's lip curled had Haley shuddering. That sadistic smile was all too familiar. The thought crossed her mind, if the Slayer would expand on the cruel acts he had done when he was in the Grail War. She was actually curious herself to hear his explanation for the heinous murders he committed. 

Forcing Diarmuid to kill himself was gentle compared to what he had done to the others. According to the files she read, he was a demon, while the Irishman was just... a conflicted spirit. 

Her eyes wandered to Diarmuid who stood so far and opposite from them, leering over the edge of the boat. His gaze flickered to her, keeping a careful visual. Could his hearing be amplified to the point of hearing their conversation? Curious to the Magus Slayer recourse of the events?

Unfortunately, Kiritsugu kept it short. Said that he simply had Diarmuid's Master order his suicide to take out their enemy. His son only nodded, and muttered an, "ah," scratching at the back of his head, awkwardly. He left out the details of what he did to Kayneth and his wife afterward. 

Typical. Kiritsugu was probably unaware that Haley held the knowledge of everything he had done, pardon what Diarmuid remembered. But she kept quiet. It was not her place to say such things and she was sure he would refute it.

A moan escaped the air as the doorway groaned open, releasing a pitiful looking pair of individuals. Haley blinked. The man before her was _heavily_ cursed, as his woman companion steadied him. He had little sanity left within. He was ripped. Topless, too. She could see every line down to the vee that was covered by his trousers. There was little to no light in his eyes. 

She saw Kiritsugu automatically analyzing them. He was smart, that man. While she was sure he couldn't detect curses like herself, he knew that man was _trouble_ almost as quickly as she had. 

She really needs to get an idea about what to expect from him. He sucked on his bud and let out the smoke and she hacked. She wondered how he had those. Blocking her nostrils from the smoke with the back of her hand, she decided to ask,

"So, guess you have some sponsors already, to have that."

His eyebrows raised at her comment, the blank black eyes staring into her as if trying to read her. Was what she said so strange? 

He pulled it from his mouth, and wedged it between his fingers, "There won't be sponsors until this round is finished. I ordered them from the watch." He said plainly.

Her lips parted and she nibbled the nail of her thumb. They won't get sponsors until this round is over? She shot a wary glance to Diarmuid. Then how did she get that pump to pull the poisonous vapor from his lungs? Did she just miss the cute falling from the trap once he completed it?

She saw Kiritsugu raise his eyebrows higher, as if he could read her mystified expression. He even questioned if she even bothered to read the guide that was given to her, and if not, she was clearly out of her league. 

His son apologized for his jabs, but she was too lost in thought to really be offended. She cringed, as more dead began coming through portals. She had enough information for now. She didn't want to risk giving any other details about their situation away in the process like she was sure she already unconsciously had.

She wandered the boat to see what the plan was. According to the other Detainers and some of their Forsaken- they planned to the enemy ship by force. Take down the dead in mindless slaughter. The goal was either to eliminate the enemy entirely, or sink the ship to clear the round. A majority of them simultaneously agreed. 

Satisfied, she found herself back at Diarmuid's side. He indulged in the details of the plan, but He didn't speak to her when she joined him. His attention was fixated on the crash and rolls of the waves as the boat drifted through them. Her lip pressed into a firm line. Was he still upset about what happened before?

"You know I.. was just trying to protect you then, right?" She whispered, following the waves that brushed up against the wood. She sneaked a peek, trying to read his expression. 

A tender smile pulled at his lips, and his eyes softened. "I do, my Lady. Worry not, I do not blame you for how you reacted. I can only thank you for how much you care for me."

She lifted her head to respond-grateful he was not angry with her, but the boat careened. Thunder clouds swirled above them. The wind picked up, blowing the flask and the boat angled deep into the water. The souls that lined the rims toppled over into the ocean that warped and mangled their bodies. 

Haley's eyes widened at the sight and she pushed off the edge. The boat rocked. She muttered a curse as the clouds parted- and the second ship emerged with the sound of a trumpet signaling them to start.

Diarmuid pulled his weapons from their sheaths. Finally, he was to actually _fight_. Droplets of rain ran down his cheek, and his hair wrinkled. The ship across was concealed by the mist and rain. The souls around the boat began gathering together, readying their own weapons to commence their plan when given the chance. 

He looked to Haley who studied the ship across from them. She was not sure, but she suspected there were cannons attached at the bottom of the enemy ship as their own did. 

Their team had no clear leader- which he disliked. It was to be an all out brawl. But they were not allowed to harm those on their same ship. Another trap. He told Haley to verify any hints in the watch- it was their only guidance.

Haley studied the watch as their boat rocked against a harsh wave. She pressed through the range of choices. It seemed the gold relic had more and more options as this tournament progressed. She didn't recall an order app being infused within it, but then Kiritsugu mentioned utilizing just that to get his cigs. So it must be updated as the tournament progresses. 

The boat crashed again, and she flicked through it quicker. She clicked and almost missed what she needed. Going back a notch, there was a detection option. When she pressed the, "initiate" button, a small current escaped and hummed as her eyes flickered. 

She blinked a couple of times- feeling a strange heat signature in her eyes and looked around. Everyone around was glowing red, and when she glanced up at Diarmuid's questioning eyes, he was highlighted in blue.

She sidestepped, and shot a look at the enemy ship. Her eyes were no longer that icy blue- instead they beat like a heart and were amplified with a lilac hue. Diarmuid examined the other's eyes, and saw shifting colors as well. Some had that same shade of purple- while others had reds and golds. 

Not all of the Detainers had the transformation in their eyes. Was that magic he sensed? A wave of air that blared with a siren interrupted his train of thought. The haze completely engulfed the enemy ship and he shot Haley a fleeting warning glance as a blast ruptured their ship.

Green, the enemies were emerald green. They swarmed them from the other vessel that crashed into their own. She ducked as Diarmuid swung his sword and sliced an enemy's head that rolled over her shoulders. She jerked at seeing the person's alarmed features at her feet. 

Diarmuid shouted for her to move left as he stabbed into the heart of an upcoming enemy that aimed at her back. He heard a canon go off and they were flung forward. He adjusted his footing and spun to the clang of feed that approached from behind. Haley yelped for him to stop. 

Inches, his sword was inches from someone who was presumed to be on their side. He cursed. He needed her to be his eyes before he struck a fellow player, then. He laid his arm on his knees as he knelt,

"Climb onto my back and survey the battleground for me for enemies and comrades. Quickly, my Lady."

Haley shook off the surprise and mounted on, wrapping her legs around his waist so he could focus on his weapons. He clutched the spear and sword and darted back along the boat. He raced across, aiming to hitch onto the enemies boat as planned. He hacked away at the adversaries before him, as she instructed. 

He was so skilled, easily dodging blows that ended in his single, final strike. But as they raced through the sea of warriors- the boat was sinking. While some of the Forsaken on their side were aiming their own canons: the opponent's side seemingly continued to disappear from view. 

What made matters worse- it would reappear at different locations. It was not possible to sail the boat fast enough to accomplish that. The faintest traces of powerful magical energy leaked into the air.

Diarmuid slid as he engaged an opponent. Crossing his spear and sword in front of him blocking the strike from the woman's- enchanted hammer? How? He slid his sword upwards- knocking the woman's weapon from his into the upsurge of seawater. His blade rang in response and his arm quivered. 

Impossible. The weapons kept whatever special abilities they had but that was clearly a regular hammer that had magic attached to it. It almost severed his sword.

He closed in, ready to meet her heart with his spearhead- but she turned tail and ran. He stopped, all of the enemy had rescinded back and hopped to their ship with his teammates trailing them.

There was a roar of triumph, but Haley wasn't so sure it was warranted. Whoever's boat sunk first—or eliminated the entire enemy— that was the message. They had not damaged their ship. At all. With magic it should not possess it continues to disappear. 

The retreat of the enemy does not always signal defeat. Something was off. Diarmuid warned Haley to keep on alert. He was going to fall back. 

Still linked together, they went the opposite way their opponents retracted to. As they retreated, skull beasts swarmed their ship. Their form was similar to canines as they leaped and dug at their team. 

Diarmuid kicked and broke a few, but Haley flung them about with her abilities as subtly as possible. She told him she recognized these creatures: they were magic beasts called familiars that continued to crystallize in a purplish gleam of smoke.

Haley heard gun fire, and saw Kiritsugu at the opposite end of the ship shooting the creatures. His son was utilizing an oozie that sprayed them with fire. But as it rained harder- increasing the fill of water in the boat, it began to flame out. 

She eyed that cursed man and the woman who were using the brunt force of their bodies to destroy them. As Diarmuid's sword and spear met with the fatality to the beasts, she searched for the other ship. 

They had to sink it, or this is all for nothing. Their numbers would just continue to dwindle. Was that also the enemies plan? To pick at their numbers and watch their ship sink?

"The flow of magic is coming from there! Aim your weapons to the sky!"

Haley followed Kiritusgu's bullets to the clouds that circled above them. As they separated from his barrage of blasts a barrier flung up and a woman's purple hood stretched across her back like a bat, flew sideways. 

A hardy laugh escaped the woman as she shot blasts of magic toward their ship breaking apart more of the interior. She also blasted down more of the souls on the ship that aimed for her. 

Diarmuid ran across the boat, dodging her array of magical energy. Now Haley wished they brought the damn spear that cancelled out magic. How was this woman able to access this without disqualification?

"You all struggle! I enjoy it so very much! You are all _so_ entertaining, trying so hard to beat the magic with your puny weapons. Why not try to defend yourself against your own, hmmm?"

The woman wiggles her fingers, controlling a thin thread. Bodies laced in wire, she manipulates the dead like puppets, turning the teammates against one another. 

Diarmuid's eyes focus on the faint shine and evade the string. However, that was half the battle. He was immediately put on the defensive, as Haley shrieked as their comrades were aiming for their heads. 

Their numbers were quickly dwindling, and he clutched the hilt of his sword, and sheathed it. His spear was his best defense without causing unnecessary injury.

"How about this, as well! Can you control the mad dog in your rankings?"

Haley's eyes expanded. The man with the curse raged about. He pulled the planks from the foundation and began tearing their boat apart. His Detainer could not settle him. He was lost in a madness that this woman seemed to strengthen with her magic. 

Diarmuid began sloshing in the rising water. His movements painfully get slower. Attempting to counter their own teammates and having to stop a man lost in his own insanity. The rules stated they couldn't kill their fellow occupants, but what about knocking them out? It was a speculation, but it was worth attempting.

Haley agreed, and she held the man in place, doing her best to keep their surroundings away from them so Diarmuid could focus on his little idea.

Diarmuid steadied his footing. He arched his spear, the back of it aiming for the cursed soul past them. With as much strength into the throw, he slung the spear for the head of the deranged man before him. 

It struck clean in the temple- hurtling the man back with a crash into the foundation of the ship. Haley utilized her gift to bring the spear back with a zip, as Diarmuid caught it firmly in his grasp. 

For a second, he wondered if that is what _he_ appeared like when he was in his own fits of rage. It was a given that anyone around him would be terrified. 

He pulled his sword from the sheath and readied it above his head, waiting for his Master's release. She adjusted herself onto his shoulders, and rose her arms, with a nod. With flicked swing, he threw his sword, so it would spin on the flat side.

It sliced through the magically woven thread that held the dead. With increased precision from Haley's mental control, of course. He exchanged a triumphant look with his Master as the dead regained themselves, and Moralltach found his palm yet again. Now if only they could figure out how to take down the damn enemy fleet.

"That was impressive! But still, it is sink or swim. Oh wait, once you sink, there is no swimming! My apologies!" The woman soared the skies and continued her magical bursts of energy, cleaning through the boat, pieces flying everywhere.

Kiritsugu tossed Shirou out of the way. This kid was troublesome with his lack of skill. A part of him wished he taught him more than simple magic. 

He caught the eyes of that chivalrous knight and the woman riding his back. They just thwarted the witch's puppets. They are proving to be somewhat useful in this situation and maybe he could eliminate them both in the process. He arranged to cover Shirou as they made their way through the boney familiars and her magical blasts. 

He scanned the lot of soldiers aiming for Medea- and some of them being berated down by her Forsaken with incredible firsts. Meeting the Knight's aggravated gaze, he shot down the monsters that came for them. He had Emiya do the talking, surely they would listen to his good hearted son over himself,

"You can move things with your mind, right?"

Haley peered to the side, not meeting their gaze,

"What of it?"

 _Yes, that would work, then._ Kiritsugu thought to himself, as he also finally confirmed the suspicion he had from studying them in their previous and this round thus far. 

His son continued on with their plan. Medea has a short, zigzagging blade dagger that could break rules, contracts, other things. She must have used it upon herself to guarantee her victory by allowing herself to continue using magic. 

If that were the case and they have allowed it thus far, then that guarantees Haley's telekinesis would not fall under magic, thus being a loophole around the rules as well. Depending on how well she had mastered such a gift, she could use it to bring Medea down for the kill so they can reveal and sink their ship. 

Until then- they would have Diarmuid protect Emiya and fight any enemies that try to take the boat. They had little to no time. They were practically knee deep in water, and she was hacking away their boat.

 _And while you are attempting to take out Medea, he would converse with the man Medea was desperate to save to take his own chance to bring them down. In their madness of fighting each other, I will wait patiently to take out Medea myself from my vantage point._ Kiritsugu plot with himself.

Yes, he would let them distract Medea, have Souichirou kill either one of those two- and kill Medea. Once she is finished, the man he has in the bunks will ready the cannons and take down their ship. Even if his plan does not work- Most likely Medea would be defeated by their abilities. He won either way, and with little effort on his part.

Diarmuid ground his teeth. He was not fond of his Master showing how powerful her gift was. She could very well do exactly what they planned, but it would reveal her to the enemies. Plus, he was certain they could not trust the man who obviously devised this plan. This boy was not capable of such intricate ideas, he very well could sense it.

"I can do that, easily," Haley gripped Diarmuid's damp chest.She could feel the tension in his muscles, which got tighter when she agreed. If only she could use their link to assure him she knew exactly what Diarmuid was thinking. 

She could feel the deceit leaking off Kiritsugu. He does not know of her abilities to assess intentions. He was planning something, and while anyone would not be able to read it from his face or casual body language, it was leaking in his aura. She could read him like a book. 

She slipped off Diarmuid's back and splashed into the ever rising tide of the boat. "I only have one question- Where are you going to be hiding, Kiritsugu, while myself and Diarmuid do all the work?"

It was subtle, but the twitch of Kiritsugu's lip from her question led Diarmuid to believe his mistrust of him was founded. His Master seemed to be on to him as well. He spied the boy, who looked at him with the same question. He could not understand how these two were related. Their difference in their demeanor was alarming.

"I will be there- on the ladder." He jerked his chin to the ladder that led up to the sail and Haley sucked her teeth. 

A half truth. At least she would know where the treacherous bullets would come from if it ever came to that. He is not allowed to kill them- but he was able to trick Kayneth with that, she was sure he could do the same here. But she wouldn't let him know that. 

She agreed and nodded to Diarmuid, "Have faith in me, Diarmuid and _all_ of my mental capabilities, okay?" She did not wait for his response, she only hoped that he would catch on to her hint.

Haley zipped past the onslaught of monsters. She placed her back against a barrel as she hunched. She peered past the side and eyed Medea flying the sky, her laughter catching in the air. 

She sucked in her breath and darted to the edge of the boat. Back still pressed against the barrier between the boat and the ocean, she crawled her way as close as possible to get the best grip on the woman in the sky. 

She quickly turned her eye to the latter, as Kiritsugu shimmied his way up the top. When he signaled her, she flipped her attention back to Medea and willed as much of her mind power to yank the damn woman out of the clouds.

Medea's shocked whale filled their ears as she slung downwards. Weapons aimed for her but the cry of the soldiers escaped from the haze and they rushed into the boat from the mist. Their weapons met the onslaught of their own and Haley practically growled. 

Haley dropped her right in front of him. She glanced where Kiritsugu was supposed to be- and he was gone. Dang it. He easily could have used this chance to shoot Medea down.

She gulped. She did not like hurting people, but it had to be done. She yanked Medea down further to submerge in the water. But as the woman soared downward-

Haley's scream bit into Diarmuid's ears and he ditched the shocked kid. He followed where she hid and he brought his spear in between fists that collided into the metal. It rang from how hard those brass like knuckles hit. His foot met the man's ankles. But the man sidestepped and jabbed for his ribs which he blocked with his blade that also simmered.

"My Lady, are you alright?!" Diarmuid swiped at him with the sword and the man jumped back with speed he could not match. The man was being magically enhanced- while he was a ghost of his past self in this dead body.

"Mmm, head- hurts-"

Haley was seeing stars. He rammed her head with such brute force. If she had not seen him at the corner of her eye, she would have been knocked out completely. But he only jabbed the corner of her skull.

She felt the slick liquid in her palms and clenched her teeth. She had enough of this. It was about damn time she showed these monsters what she was capable of. She flicked the blood and stood as Diarmuid clanged his sword and spear both against the man's incredibly hard thighs as he blocked him,

"Diarmuid- get out of my way!"Haley watched as Diarmuid shot her a surprised look then darted to their right. 

With one palm resting on her wound, she slapped her arm out before her. The man charged straight in and she met him with enough mental force to send him flying over the boat's edge. Guilt geared at the back of her head, but she had little time to acknowledge it. 

She took off, breaking through the masses of familiars and undead. Gripping the sides of the ladder she rushed up. Then she used her abilities to shoot herself to the ripped flag and swung up the poll to land at the top. 

She had no clue where the damn ship was but she would find it. She made a swimming motion with her arms and broke the mist apart in sections until she saw the wave of the enemy sail. 

That was all she needed as she eyed the ocean beneath it and forcefully crashed tide like waves against the bits of the ship that were revealed. She would sink the damn thing herself. Medea soared in front of Haley who barely had enough time to counter. She jumped back and let herself fall, dragging Medea with her.

Diarmuid watched in horror as Haley sank down the sky. A loud bang sounded off and a bullet pierced into Medea on her way with her and her magic completely flailed out. 

The familiar’s crooked as they crunched inwards on themselves, blinking out of existence. The fog completely dissipated and her ship came into view at the far corner of their own. 

More blasts sounded off as the cannons aimed directly for the enemies flank, creating the same situation their boat started in. Gaping holes to sink their ship. 

He did not care. He sluggishly meandered himself through the water to get to where Haley had landed with a snap. His breath would not go out. Was she..? She snapped up out of the water. Up close, he realized she was hovering over the wood,

"My God's, My Lady..what were you _THINKING_?!"

She groaned,

"Nooot now, later... The other ship..still has to sink!"

She stood in place and sucked in her breath, eyes straining, he watched as she lifted her arms above her head and the water in their boat drilled into the sky. She slung it over the edges to the entire crew's surprise as well as his own. 

With a labored moan, she targeted the enemies on the boat. She chucked them off in groups, and if any went for her- Diarmuid spun his spear and jabbed. He would not let them interrupt his lady's talents, and neither did the rest of their collaborators.

Haley's knees wobbled. While the cronies did their due diligence to protect her- now that they saw how valuable she was to their survival- her gaze met the other ship. She reared the water up, even while her arms convulsed, her vision smearing and pushed with all her might.

  
  



	12. Afterwards...

The tide ate the ship. Waves crashed repeatedly, turning it's magnificence over and thrusting it into the ocean with a splash on its side. There was no saving it. The waters washed over it, hardening like mud and crushed the wood into pieces.

Horror stricken, the enemy dead gave way, collapsing to the ground, frozen in place. The cheer from the survivors carried through the rain that puttered to a slow stop. The clouds broke, and a ray of light shone through where they parted.

His lip curled up at the corners. Arching back in the seat, he braided his fingers together. That did not go entirely as he promised, but it did indeed work. It seems his old friend found quite the Master.

He was amazed he could even last this long-Of all people-he would have expected much less. Then again, it seems as though he is not entirely capable. That woman was indeed the threat between the two of them.

He wonders how entranced he must have made her to go to such lengths for the beast. The monster that dragged him here. His fingers gripped together tightly. Yes, indeed seeing him again will cause the utmost of trouble.

Haley's eyes rolled. Too much. She pressed her brain too much. Eyes sealed shut, her palm searched for steadiness but found air. Her body swayed right meeting calloused fingers.

Through her half open eyelids, she stared up into worry stained, crimson and golden eyes. He must be furious with her. She exhausted all of their options in front of everyone. If there were any secrets left of her telekinetic abilities- they were gone. Flushed away with the tide that drained into the pipes of the stadium.

She did still have her illusions, but that magic was hardly any use. Well, she could at least hope whoever the sponsors were for the tournament knew she was capable. If anything worthwhile could come from her exposing her gift in its entirety, that would be it.

She was so delicate in his heavy arms. He recalled how when she undressed herself, how the outline of her rib cage was protruding her skin, and the line of her hip bone visible.

He wanted to turn away- it was shameful to see a lady you were not fancy with bare, but her success in that contraption might have relied on his eyesight so he forced himself to observe. Witnessing her frame then, and cradling her now, he had begun to ponder if that were how she were born, or if other issues were at fault.

Regardless, the light in her crystal eyes faded and she drooped into the crease of his arm. She expended herself, again, and this time for all to see. He would scold her about that, later. He must offer her his regards first, she was quite impressive with turning their situation around.

The panels boxing them in rescinded into the floor, revealing the bleachers. The crowd around the Arena roared at the Announcement of the winning team, along with the result of the other obstacle that was displayed during the conquering of ships.

The key participants that were responsible for victory highlighted on the screen and through the Announcer's continuous praise. Tch. They emphasized Kiritsugu's master plan, as well as his Master's grand involvement. His own incredible strength and endurance, but what made him lift his head from monitoring his Master's condition was the mention of Kayneth's involvement.

When had that bastard participated? He had not seen him on the ship- he assumed he was either on the enemy lines or he had died before even coming into the second part of round two. Plus, what other obstacle was she referring to?

His eyes darted across the remnants of the ship that disintegrated into a floor panel beneath them. He was nowhere to be seen.

Diarmuid exited the Arena through the gates and went straight to the infirmary that was underneath the bleachers. The Healers were perplexed. She had no visible injuries aside from a small head gash- and neither did himself.

She was not sick, however they were both drenched from the rain and flooding. He asked if they could heal her mind, and they attempted what- they truly did not know. Her abilities were a rare find, most do not adapt their mind to such a degree.

However, it was highly apparent that while they could heal whatever strain was there- it seemed their involvement could not go further and her natural rest was the only cure. He bowed his head in thanks and lay her on the bed.

He was grateful they offered to at least change her into a gown so she would no longer be in the damp clothing. He took that time to exchange his soaked jumper for his original clothes that he obtained from a rather grumpy Observer.

He watched the screens roll with the new placements. He and his Master were ranked eleventh out of eighty nine left. From all the ordeals, and after everything his Master and him displayed, of course they would place so high on the list. Hopefully that earned them the sponsorship they spoke of and he wondered how many enemies this had created as well.

He sat back and folded his arms. There were plentiful stares around the room. Yes, they definitely caught everyone's attention, now. They had left them alone, and only a sparing glace was ever really offered. Now, he felt like he was the center of attention, and there were still so many more rounds to go.

"And we will announce the end of the preliminaries! We must congratulate all for making it this far. Your perseverance and dedication to your struggles are astounding! Your unique styles have piqued our fabulous row of Judges, the panel of Creators, interest! Thus so, at the end of two rounds, you will battle a boss to test your individual skills!"

Diarmuid stared intently at the screen, the entire infirmary silent. A boss fight at the end of two rounds? This was unexpected. Who were they to face? The way the woman lingered on Creators...

"And of course- that boss shall be one of four of our panel of Designers. In no particular order, you will be facing Archilles, Cu Chulainn, Giglamesh, and Loki!"

Diarmuid studied the faces of the four named to be, "bosses". They were all different and dauntless foes. Gilgamesh he knew- and remembered how he had a never ending array of weapons. He was an arrogant man who thought little of his opponents.

He recognized the lore of Cu Chulainn. His stories were told all across Ireland, even to the littles as bedtime stories. A Lancer like himself- and a powerful one. He left no enemy behind. Both were Demi- Gods. The other two, were of myth he was trying to place.

Achilles was rumored to be a tactful man of many talents. He was well versed in different weaponry. The other, a true God, known for mischief, but that was the extent of his knowledge.

All were incredibly powerful, and of legends that far surpass his own. To be honored to due battle with them- however slight his victory may be- might actually make part of this tournament worthwhile. Strategically thinking, if they were to battle four of them, Did this mean there will be eight rounds in total?

"Now do not fret, our dear Forsaken. The battles will be fair- and the Boss will not be allowed to afflict a wound that would trigger death to your bodies. However! Losing will put you in a sudden knockout. An all or nothing round against the losers will come forth. We will decide the challenge and how many should survive. Or you may possibly have more traps to figure out. And speaking of traps. We do hope you held on to the keys you have retrieved from the first section of round 2! They will be impertinent to future rounds! Now if you would, please stay put until the next announcement in a few minutes!"

Haley snaked her arm around the bulk of Diarmuid's to shift herself upward. Did she hallucinate that? Did the Announcer say they were going to fight against the Damn Gods of the Designers?

Granted three out of the four were half Gods. But for GOD'S sakes they were still almighty and powerful just the same. True Heroic Spirits, unlike Diarmuid who was powered by her mana and magic along with whatever strengths he carried.

Of course this message comes up as she laid all of her cards on the table in front of them. If she were to challenge them, they would have a plan to counter her for sure. They must have caught on to the reason she collapsed.

Her lip rolled into her mouth and she took a gander at Diarmuid. His aura was filled with enthusiasm. So this excited him, then? Well, he was known to love a good duel... but the matter was his soul though.

Was he truly capable of beating Demi - if not full on Gods - to save himself? This whole thing is a mess, and of course her splitting headache is not making figuring this out easy.

Diarmuid felt her soft grasp of his arm, and found her worriedly watching the screen. She used him for balance- he presumed, as she was squinting and rather wobbly, even sitting up. He placed his hand to her back to steady her,

"You are finally awake, that is good. After employing so much of your technique, I feared you would be out much longer."

"You feared correctly- I am exhausted. My head is pounding."

Haley's eyes drifted closed, as she rested her temple on his shoulder. He was much more comfortable than the tough mattress underneath her. It was as if the back of her head was being nurtured by rocks, and it only strengthened her migraine. "I... hope you don't mind me being so close. This bed just sucks."

He felt his heart flutter. The warmth of her touch flared on his skin and he fought back a flinch. When not prepared- his body pained for more, begging to fill itself with what it fell short of.

He noticed that to be much more frequent, and had been attempting to subdue it. Now- she tempted that craving, and he was not so sure she was even aware. Plus, there was this nagging thought that he really did not want to entertain. Though, she had decency to ask, and he could sense she truly was not comfortable elsewhere.

He was unsure... of how to respond. Though he wanted her to find comfort to heal as best as possible- the ramifications of what could happen if the dead part of himself won was too great. He was to reject, however, she peered up at him through her lashes as if begging him for his acceptance, and the fatigue in her eyes tugged his sympathy.. He was defeated by the waves in her eyes alone,

"I... do not mind. You may, my Lady."

She felt the tension in her shoulder release and relaxed further into his arm. There was definitely resistance in his mind somewhere, but thankfully, he did not reject herself.

She did not know why, but felt being refused in this moment would have bummed her out more than she'd like to admit. It has been literal hell for them since they had met, and to just be able to ease into him for once was something she needed. Everyone was always so distant; was it really that bad to just enjoy physical contact? Especially when it was much more efficient than the damn hospital bunk?

"It'll.. only be for a few, I promise." She felt the relief drip off him and drooped. Why was this so terrible?

He mentioned before that because of their circumstances, it was inappropriate. But the vibes he gives off scream there is something else. Plus, what circumstances was he referring to?

She didn't think to delve into it then. She originally thought it was simply because this whole thing was still new. Or that he was reserved because of that mole. Or maybe he just, didn't like people touching him. There were people like that, and she didn't want to overstep by pushing him past that comfort zone. Now she truly wondered,

"Can you tell me again... why do you hate it so much?"

He could not hold back his flinch at her words. She misunderstood. He truly did not despise it. It was the internal struggle that bothered him. He thought she knew before, what could happen. Maybe he was mistaken.

"It's... not like that, my lady. I mean no disrespect when I ask- but are you aware of what's called, "The craving of the Dead"?"

She shook her head in his arms.

"Ah," So she was devoid of the knowledge, "Then allow me to explain."

It was a simple obsession. Before the diamond and her magic infused within him- The dead's bodies were incomplete. As he knew she was painfully aware, they lacked any true life force within them. While he was sure they were there- they were devout of functional organs as well. The closest thing left of life was his consciousness and soul.

However, it was barely enough to fill the emptiness their bodies held. So some of the dead souls drifted to life- clinging on to what they once were. Some even seek it, whether it be intentional or not. Which led to hauntings and some even go so far to possess the living bodies.

Naturally his body craved, and depending on his control of it, could have him obsess over her so he could live yet again. To desperately have what his body did not. Something as simple as physical contact was enough to spark that, and he would not lie and say he not felt it.

Haley shifted in place, adjusting herself so she could bring her other hand to his thigh. She smoothed the jean's and stroked him lightly with her thumb,

"Oh, well, I knew of that in a way," She said softly, now understanding his discomfort and constant distance, "I was briefed on it slightly- But if I remember correctly," her lips curled at the corners, "Possessions won't work on me. Plus, you are now gifted with magic from the diamond that should counteract your body's craving."

Diarmuid studied the motion of her thumb as it rubbed,

"My lady? It is still dangerous, I would not want to cause you any more grief..."

"Grief?" She angled her head to look at him, "You've caused me no such thing... if I were to be honest," she pat his leg, "It's been.. nice to have someone to talk to. Yeah we've had some issues but.. you're not the terrible company you think you are. At least, not to me."

"You... mean that? Truly? Even after all you've had to endure because of me?"

She had enough of his insecurity. Of course she meant it. She would not say it if weren't true.

Not only had her father kept her prisoner once her abilities showed forth, then there was her escape from his confines. She's always had to keep it short. Never allowed to stay around a person for long- for fear it would bring attention to herself and her location.

She had to use illusions to mask herself, and could never really be who she was. It was an everyday struggle- keeping her identity unknown while traveling to keep her pursuers on their toes. Never having the time to stay in one place, or the luxury of making, "friends." It was too painful to be suspicious all the time, wondering if they'd figure her out and report her to the Association.

So she led a rather isolated life until now. It's the first time her true name had sung in the ears of those around her. The first time she has ever truly been herself, and he accepted her. Taught her things. Cared for her well being. So much so he wanted her to forfeit, to leave his soul to its fate so she could avoid those tools. Yeah, he was really not that bad. She tugged his arm and pulled him closer,

"Yeah, I mean it. I chose this," she nestled into his bicep. She really did not think it to be too terrible. If she were honest with herself, she was being slightly selfish, too.

Admittedly, she was always physically expressive, but was withdrawn from others for so long.. she just wanted to know what it was like. If he did not mind it too- why not? That craving he spoke of was also becoming an underlying problem for his curse, anyway.

There was this, longing in what he was missing that was triggering it, and every time he avoided it, it just made it stronger. It was that denial that lingered in there linked to what caused him to curse the Grail in the first place. She was not sure how to explain that, with them only dipping into the curse so far.

"So just trust this is okay. If it becomes a problem- I will stay away."

His hand found the back of his neck, he was truly unsure. There was underlying desire in her voice. If he had not been bound to her soul- he would have missed it completely. He could not entirely place what it meant.

Her eyes remained bright, so it was not his love spot reeling her into him. It was not affection, either. It was a yearning he could not place. Was she, too, missing that same piece as himself? He arched his head back. He would hold on to his reservations, but would entertain it if she so ordered.

"Yes, I can be alright with that, then." It would be much simpler than fighting himself or her every time they touched. Though, something still irked him. "But my Lady," he thought of how to ask, "Is there maybe something else you are not telling me? I do not mean to accuse- I just rather sense something through our bond that leads me to believe so."

He watched as her fingers curled into a tiny fist at his lap. She tensed, and he placed a comforting hand on top to allow her to know it was alright to share what it was she hid from him.

She buried her face into his ribs. So there were things he could also sense through the bond of their pact. She had wondered for some time, since he had never mentioned it before now,

"It's.. embarrassing."

He chuckled, "I did not think you were one to be flustered so easily."

Her face whipped up to his. The glare she gave when she met his eyes had lit a fire in his chest, and could have burned a hole through his head.

"Mean!" He smirked, and she wanted to pull the corner of his lip right off, "I'm... expressive, okay! And it- it is nice to have physical comfort when.. when all you know is distance.."

There, she had said it. She hid her face in him again, and barely let her eyes open. That sound... Since when did he-?

"That is all? My, with the way you are clutching me- I would presume much much worse."

"I hate you."

His laugh filled the room, and she shoved him away. Well, her headache was gone, as it was now replaced with pure frustration, and a hint of joy- but to hell he would know that. There was some weight to what she said- at least he assisted in lifting some of it.

A smile pursed her lips as the Announcer's voice boomed in the room. The adjustments had been made. They were to utilize the keys they received from their round and see which creates a reaction in the watch. The correct key had a reward specifically for each team.

Haley pulled the four keys she and Diarmuid tortured themselves for from her pocket. She had not taken any time to examine them. In fact- she detested the little silver trinkets. They all differed in size, and had tiny jewels at the handle. She held the key with the ruby to the watch, nothing. The second, infused with a pearl, set off a hologram from the screen. She glanced to Diarmuid who nodded and he read the text allowed,

"Five days to explore the entire Dome and that around it, excluding the Sacred Market. Free to ask a single question to an elected Panel member of choice about the Boss Battles- pardon their order and additional questions." The message shimmered and additional text appeared, "Please enter the Arena to ask your question in thirty minutes. Timer will appear in 5-"

Thirty minutes to come up with a question that would further their success in this tournament. It was crucial they figure the best approach to give them an advantage.

Diarmuid thought back to everything that had happened to them thus far. Information was impertinent to their survival- and it was something they lacked at every angle. If they had know there would be Obstacle courses, torture devices, among their wars with one another- they might have had a better plan rather than fighting blind.

Would simply asking what the goal is to complete each God's challenge be enough? Or should that be obvious? Diarmuid peered to Haley, who bit her thumbnail, pondering a question herself. She said she could sense intentions- so would that mean she would know if they were to deceive them? Also- it did not state they were guaranteed an answer.

Then there was the matter of electing who to gain knowledge from. The Panel was laced with very different individual warriors. The entire competition had been tricky, who's to say these members were to be trusted?

He was glad she agreed asking Loki and Dolos was out of the question. Both were known in legend for their mischievous nature. He debated asking Merlin, but she disregarded him because he liked to speak in riddles, something they really did not want to work with right now.

That disappointed him. He so willingly helped them before. That left Achilles, Athena, Cu Chulainn, and Gilgamesh.

Well, Gilgamesh he decided against. He remembered that pompous king, continuously calling the Heroic Spirits mongrels, and having interest only in having those kneel before him. Surely he would not aid them well.

"So, Cu Chulainn, Athena, or Achilles, and whatever we agree to ask..." Haley angled her wrist, they had twenty minutes left. Fifteen in case they had to be in front of the Hosts before the timer ran out. "Well, if I remember anything about Achilles myths was that he was no valiant knight, either. Man, why is this panel full of scumbags?"

"We must come to a conclusion quickly, my lady. So it is between Athena or Cu Chulainn, then?"

Haley thought about Greek Mythology. Athena is supposed to be highly intelligent, and strategic. She uses her wisdom to decide how she should react in a situation. She seemed stable enough- although if she remembered correctly, she was emotionless, and was fickle. She would change her mind continuously.. what if she decided that answering them was a bad idea?

Cu Chulainn was from Diarmuid's mythologies, so hopefully he knew more of his legend than she did. Did he know what he is capable of? Come to think of it, he was actually a Servant in the fifth Holy grail war. If she remembered correctly, though, he did not do much.

Diarmuid blinked. Cu Chulainn was summoned as a Servant? He analyzed the tales that were sung around Ireland of him. The demi-god was a proud warrior and hero- who followed orders without question

He supposedly was compassionate and maybe he could relate from their position. At the same time, he was known to be merciless. Taking out even civilians if need be. It was told he was not a fan of tedious things. He was a great Heroic Spirit who took pride in his heroism. Resulting in trickery would probably not be to his liking.

What made him lean towards the fellow celtic warrior, was that he would be an opponent as well, while Athena was not. Getting a feel on him would also prove to be useful if not necessary. He looked to his master who nodded in confirmation,

"So Cu it is, then. Now, what exactly to we ask the guy?"

The crowd had been cleared, and the Dome was empty, aside from themselves and the Hosts. They were escorted to the center of the Arena, where the judge's panel hovered above them.

There, the seven Designers sat on their thrones, decorated with gems and jewels of colors that matched their attire.

Merlin, with his lilac and white embroidered with flowers, Athena with bright scarlet and white, Achilles silvers and a cherry cloth that draped from behind to his chest, Cu Chulainn, a royal blue that blended with silver, Loki, cerulean bound with white, his long hair spilled over the edge, Dolos, dark and unwelcoming, and Gilgamesh, bright red and gold.

She studied their faces, and her eyes met locked with Merlin's. His eyes softened, and the smile that broke across his lips was almost welcoming. The others, on the other hand, read with either bored, curious, or completely uninterested expressions. Gilgamesh looked like he really would rather be elsewhere.

They were extremely intimidating. If she were to say the energy radiating from them was anything other than mighty and overpowering, she would be lying to herself. How were they supposed to do a thing against any of these spirits?

She gripped her forearm, and bit her lip. Should she bow before them, as Diarmuid was? Did they deserve as much? Was she standing there, completely lost and waiting for them to allow her to speak making her look as small and pathetic as she felt? She leaned back on her ankles.

"Welcome before our truly wonderful Designers! You have been gifted with the chance to speak to one of them directly! Be honored! Young lady, might you follow in your Forsaken's gracious efforts and lay your head for the royalty that is before you?"

Her eyes widened. So she was to kneel? They really desired that? Wait, no. Those times were over. These damn souls were responsible for torturing them. She honestly felt they did not deserve the respect.

Her teeth broke skin. She looked to Diarmuid, who sideways glance caught her eye and she sighed emphatically. His words ringing in her head, replaying that moment on the rooftop. She should replicate his position, then. Gravel at their damn feet, and she swore to herself. She felt ridiculous.

"Hmph, mongrels. Pathetic, really. You truly did not think you were to stand before me, and actually have a look, were you?"

"Seriously, Gilgamesh, must you be so obnoxious." Athena waved her hand, as she rested her chin on her fist, her bracelet gleaming. He gave her a glance,

"I must. They should know their place, especially the mongrel that had the luxury to have been in my royal presence before." The golden beads around his neck bounced as he leaned over the arm of the chair.

Athena's eyes rolled, and Haley's followed suit, hoping they did not notice. So Gilgamesh did remember Diarmuid. Great. He was also as obnoxious as he stated. All she wanted to do was ask a question, not be ridiculed.

"Oh ho ho, you two, at it again. Respect your Goddess, Gil- it'll do you some good."

"You dare instruct a King what to do, Achilles!? Know your place!"

Merlin's thunderous sigh filled the air as his head arched back in his chair, and Cu Chulainn's laughter broke it apart.

Haley glimpsed up, refraining from adjusting her position. This was a perfect time to study them individually.

"Excuse them. They bicker. Often. It can be entertaining and obnoxious at times." Loki adjusted the orbs that were attached to his ears. It was rather difficult sitting among others who refused to get along. His attention waved from the individuals below to Dolos who nudged his shoulder.

"Oh don't fret, Lord Loki. Their feuding is quite amusing if not delightful. Let them continue." Dolos braided her fingers together with a sly smile. The Heroic Spirits were certainly interesting. They had such darling personalities that clashed so well.

Haley fidgeted. How long were they supposed to be in this position? Seriously not until the idiots in front of them finish their squabbling. That would be agonizing. She glanced past the strands of hair that fell over her shoulder to see a hint of a smile on Diarmuid's face.

"Okaaay! If I might interrupt, we do have these two waiting-" The Announcer broke in, and Gilgamesh glared daggers that would pierce through cement if possible.

"They may wait centuries for this chance to speak with us. They're nothing but pitiful lowly mongrels, our ordeals are much more important. Now-"

"Enough." Athena stood, her icy stare silencing the King of Heroes. "Briscella is correct. They have the key to knowledge, and that we shall give. Do stand, and tell me, who is it to whom you wish to speak?"

Diarmuid and Haley exchanged cautious looks and slowly brought themselves to their feet. He was to finally speak to the Designers that invited them here. To the God's and spirits who have given him the opportunity to save his soul from Hell.

He had not expected to be before them so soon, if at all. regardless of how fickle they were- it was almost humbling to be in such deity's prescience. Now, we were free to pick who they met directly.

He looked across the panel a final time. After their bickering, it was definitely clear they had made correct judgement of their character. He felt Haley's hand pull at his jeans, and she gave him a reassuring nod.

He was to answer- she telepathically instructed him to do so. He was more formal than she, and would most likely not ruin the God's already tarnished mood.

"We wish to question Cu Chulainn, and offer you our thanks for being so kind as to allow us this opportunity."

Haley spied Diarmuid lowering himself onto his arm in a bow. She did her best to copy his form. She stayed in the position as long as he did, then brought herself to her original posture when he did.

Athena's face remained unreadable and she retracted to her chair and sat. Cu Chulainn chuckled and leaped from his throne to land before her. He was dangerously close. She took a cautious step back.

She could sense it - this Heroic Spirit was ruthless. Maybe they should have chosen Athena. Her demeanor was much more inviting, than the blue man in tights before her.

A grin came across his near damning striking features. He must use those charming looks himself to gather lots of women. She sucked in her breath.

While Diarmuid gets Cu Chulainn talking, she would analyze him. He would be their opponent at some point and they needed to be ready. Diarmuid was right to take advantage of this chance. She could figure the man with the rag tail out.

"Well, get on with it. What do ya wanna know? Ya got one question. And don't waste my time with a foolish one."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still a bit iffy on this chapter. I did edit it but Let me know what you think of this particular one and if it needs some.. changes idk
> 
> Can't remember if anywhere in his legend it talks about how he does or does not like women. I know I read countless stories of how he took pride in the spot- and bed lots of women in his time before he became a knight
> 
> .Theres the famous story of the woman he married who he offered his bed to who was cursed. But when he was a knight I dunno if he started putting that behind him to serve his lord. I can't image though, with his personality in the show and from what ive read he would be opposed to it. maybe uncomfortable because of the spot once it started causing him problems but eh lol


	13. Pushing Limits

Warning bells sung in Haley's mind. This warrior before her could snap her torso in seconds. She could trace every ounce of muscle through those tights. There was no part of him that was not bulging with potency.

She felt so minuscule in his presence. Was she really about to test his tolerance? She, along with Diarmuid, were eventually to face this Demi - God in his own, separate challenge. Hell- he might even _be_ their next difficult task.

If only they knew the order of which they were to fight against them. It'd make preparing for them so much easier. Their question was important to solving this complicated puzzle that Gods lay before them.

Haley exchanged a glance with Diarmuid and sucked in a breath, "Before we ask- I am going to clarify something."

Cu's eyebrows raised with interest, "Oh?"

"Who says you're allowed to speak to us other than your question?"

Cu Chulainn brings his hand up and waves Dolos off,

"It's fine. I wanna hear what the lil Lady has to say."

Haley shifted in place. Thankful, that the laid back nature of this Lancer would give her the chance to say her piece.

She glanced to Athena, whose crystal eyes studied her. Yeah, she most likely would not have entertained them as Cu Chulainn is. His playful, curious attitude was their saving grace this moment. Especially since she was going to put on display- how she and Diarmuid were aware the Gods themselves might also exploit loopholes to screw them.

Diarmuid was smart to notice that. The letter stated they could ask a question- there was no mention that they had to actually respond to it. If she at least demanded one, she could get a read if he was planning on even entertaining it. If not- they would not bother. She just hoped she didn't spark the idea.

"It'll be no fun for you lot if you keep us in the dark- all the time. These "boss battles" are where you are testing our skills against you all. There's no _challenge_ in it for you if your opponent is clueless.

We would be _much scarier_ adversaries if we could calculate how to beat you. So," She studied Cu Chulainn as she spoke. She was careful to keep her voice firm, with slight demand, but not careless enough to provoke him.

He stood with one arm to his waist, his shiny, tied down, blue hair draped over his shoulder. His expression was lined with pure curiosity, still hung up with that wretched smile.

That was a good start- "If you have any dignity, you _will_ give us a straight and honest answer with all details necessary."

Cu Chulainn just laughed, and smacked his forehead. She registered pure amusement. That was fine, she guessed. Rather that, than the latter.

"Heh! You're sharp. You also got spunk. I like that." He turned his head so his chin lay on his shoulder plate, with a glimmer in his eyes. That devilish smirk crept up at the corners, "I will answer ya, don't worry. If you have chosen otherwise-" His smug grin grew, "Your suspicions would have led ya to what you are thinking."

"Fully, you will answer us, _fully_ . No loopholes or tricks." It was so difficult to talk straight. She almost worded that as, "Will you answer us fully?" as opposed to he _would_ answer them fully.

She worried that inadvertently asking a question like that would be counted as their question. They would be cunning enough to do so. And nasty enough.

"You're really pressin' me, aren't ya?" he chuckled, stroking the corner of his eye, "Fine, fine. I will answer your question completely of my knowledge. Which might not be much." He winked.

_Truth._

There was zero deceit in his tone, in his intentions. He would actually answer them. There was even a hint of approval. That was a relief.

Cu Chulainn might be cocky, but Diarmuid was right- he was a proud hero. Trickery wasn't something she felt came natural to this man.

She let out a relieved sigh. At least he was direct. It was also conniving of him to give confirmation that some of them up there really _would_ have left them high and dry. Those bastards. They were insufferable. They will come to respect them. She will make sure of that.

Even if they were not to win- they would at least remember their valiant efforts.

Now that she got affirmation, it was time for them to push the loopholes in their favor. Just because she didn't want them taking advantage of them, didn't mean they wouldn't. She turned to Diarmuid who took a daring step forward.

"Then I will ask-," Diarmuid gave a look to Haley, and she nodded in confirmation. Turning his attention back to the fellow Celtic before him, he continued, "In full detail, including each Boss's strengths and weaknesses- in addition to the why's and how's- which of the four challenges is the most difficult, and what do all of the challenges entail-?"

The panel quizzically glanced in between one another. Could they do that? How they worded their question left them open to multiple answers. That was- slick. Should they be rewarded for such wits?

They all shifted in their seats, exchanging whispers among one another. Cu Chulainn's laughter filled the empty stadium. He was delighted,

"That's a whole lotta question. I like it."

Giglamesh leaned forward, hands gripping the armrest in clear agitation, "You cannot answer that, mongrel! It was stated they cannot ask that many questions-"

Haley bit her lip, this next statement she would aim at no one- even though it was geared toward the raging former King's statement. But she shook off the unease. She was prepared if they were to challenge how they worded their ask.

No, she would be confident in their decision to test their limits. She would not allow them to belittle them, anymore. Her and Diarmuid would prove they were just as bright and precocious as the Host's thought they themselves were.

She straightened her shoulders out, and stood tall,

"The statement stated, and I quote - Free to ask a single question to an elected Panel member of choice about the Boss Battles- pardon their order and additional questions - We did not ask for more questions, and we did not ask for the order. What we did do was ask a single question, that we structured to give us as much information as possible. It doesn't state that we can't do that."

Diarmuid followed the mannerisms of the Panel. Haley wanted to make a statement, and he had agreed. Though he was unsure if it would work. The Gods would most likely not take well to being made to look like fools. How they whispered among one other was proof enough.

Though, his Master was correct. It was necessary to find a question that while it would give them information should the God's _actually_ answer, it would also impress them with their attempts.

This was the best they could come up with in such a short allotted amount of time. If given more- he was sure there were things they would add to make it the _single_ question, however complicated.

His gander spotted Merlin, who's gleam confirmed his- no _their_ wishes. His eyes met the back to the ruby eyed, Ulster legend.

He had already confirmed he would acknowledge their request. Would he be forced to retract that statement if the Panel behind him commanded so?

"You little wench-" Giglamesh started,

"Heh Heh, it was clever, Gil. Give them credit where it is due."

"Clearly, you have not any idea the meaning of the word, Achilles." Gilgamesh spat, his red eyes glaring daggers at the man who coolly ran his fingers through his blonde locks.

Haley wanted to sit as the judges analyzed their question. Cu had pivoted his attention to their debate. He planted a fist to his hip, those silver earrings clicking as he shifted.

She and Diarmuid were left, standing there, idly waiting by for their answer. She shot a look to Merlin, who met her raised eyebrows with a wink.

They picked a part the whole ordeal. As he stroked his silver hair, Loki muttered he agreed with Achilles. He continued, by calling Cu Chulainn a "dog", that they would confirm he would answer by testing his pride - to then draw out such a bulky question.

Dolos praised, thirty minutes used wisely. Their biggest debacle was letting Cu clue them in.

Haley rocked on her heels, wanting to know as well. He did already state he would, which was why she pressed him for that confirmation before asking. Diarmuid said in his legend he was a man of his word. Her statement prior to the question was her probing to see how true those legends were about his character.

"I said I'd answer. Quit your yackin up there." Cu grunted waving them off, twisting back to meet their expecting faces.

Diarmuid was impressed. It led him to believe they surmised correctly. He was a man of honor himself, it seemed. It was disappointing most of the others had not seemed inclined to answer.

Haley was just glad they didn't kill them for being so audacious.

Athena's mouth twitched, exchanging a glance with Merlin who nodded. She pressed her lips into a line, rather indifferent despite the growing unrest,

"I will allow it, as well."

Cu Chulainn snickered. Diarmuid pondered if Athena was someone the Spirits before them answered to? It was apparent that whenever she spoke it was with authority. She was even able to tame Gilgamesh something he had not thought possible.

It was then he and his Master let out a relieved sigh. They met each other's gaze, overjoyed. Together, they came up with the best plan. The bright smile that she displayed warmed his cold heart. Whatever information they would wield will serve them well.

"Alright, I'll tell ya what I know."

Cu Chulainn started with himself, as it was the simplest answer. He was arrogant; If you got him angry enough - he could easily be goaded in letting his guard down. When underestimating his opponents he could be manipulated, allowing someone to strike.

Women were his soft spot, as it is incredibly difficult for him to fight or kill a woman, even more so if they were beautiful.

He took a gander at Haley, who rocked sideways at the comment. That Diarmuid's attention shifted in between them so subtly the woman didn't notice. He held back his amusement.

His strengths? Endless. He gloated that he was known as the greatest Spearman of all of Ireland. He was quick as a beast. He could survive the hardest of battles, and disengage when necessary almost without fail.

He would have Diarmuid fight him head on for his challenge, and exclude the woman. For he did not wish to hurt the little lady that stood up to him so boldly.

"Eh? Seriously?" Haley said with contempt. She sucked her teeth, "I didn't think the proud warrior would be scared of a little girl." She saw a flicker of resentment in that statement cross through Cu's stiffened posture. _Oops._

"My Lady, if I may?" Diarmuid placed a hand on her shoulder, his other dangling from the connection of the chains that clicked from the motion. She looked at him with curious eyes, "I actually would prefer this as well. While I am not questioning your ability, the honor of fighting the Child of Light to test my individual skill excites me. Please, let it be so."

His head dipped and his Master sighed heavily which made his lip twitch in worry,

"You don't need my permission, silly," she flicked his forehead, and he met the motion with a chuckle, "If that's what you want, fine. But-" she flipped her attention back to the warrior in blue who seemed to be taking great pleasure in their conversation, "It's not like I really have a choice, do I?"

Cu's eye brows rose along with his ever growing smile as he shook his head no. Finishing his own description- he concluded that a majority of the Boss Battles would be just that. He did not know exactly what they would individually add- like how he would not allow Haley to interrupt his match with the fellow Irishman.

He then went on to explain what he knew about Achilles, and said that while he had just really met the guy- not much. However, he knew that he was exhibiting ridiculous strengths. Even when at a disadvantage he can quickly adapt to an opponent’s fighting style.

His weakness? His heels. Haven't they heard? Plus, he was smug like himself. Maybe they could find a way around him.

Achilles shouted that his greatest strength was his spear and he would take on Cu anytime. His eyes almost rolled when he caught a glimmer of a smirk on the woman's features as she barely glanced at her partner. Wondering what the two were plotting, he continued.

Loki was a Master of manipulation and deceit. He only knew of him having the ability to transform into different things. Other than that- he was at a loss. From what he had gathered, it seemed he liked to overthink.

That was the extent of his knowledge on the God who added that he could do much more than just transformation. It was pathetic that Cu had not known he was formidable with superhuman strength.

Dolos chimed in that his illusions were of his forte as well. Cu watched as Diarmuid lifted his head to Dolos as he spoke, a gracious smile appearing across his face.

Gilgamesh was the easiest for him to describe. Having battled him before, he would say his weakness was he was a one trick pony. All he could do was throw his massive array of weapons at them.

He was also easily triggered, so much so that they should have noticed by his aggravated yelling from his recent insult. A short coming for sure if he cannot contain his composure.

Gilgamesh was also careless because of his pride. He could hear the gritting of his teeth behind him as he egged him on. As for his strengths? Well, he could literally find a weapon easily suited to defeating well anyone. He also could hold either of them down needlessly with those heavenly chains.

As for who had the toughest challenge- based on his awareness- that would be Loki.

The man could not care for fairness, and would likely devise a plan that would ruin their chances of winning. If giving them a chance at all.

Even fighting one as powerful as Achilles- he would still allow for some room of victory, or else he would be just as bored as he. However, Loki gets pure pleasure from tricking his opponents and watching them squirm would be enough enjoyment.

Diarmuid nodded. While not entirely what they expected him to say as what would be most difficult- it was understandable. Loki was known as the God of Mischief. If any of the events thus far had taught him anything; was that the tournament was rigged, and he most likely were behind it.

He of course would enjoy watching them attempt to defeat him to fall for trickery at the last second. It would be troublesome indeed. He was truly curious what this man match would be, unfortunately it was not to Cu Chulainn's Knowledge which Haley mentally confirmed was truthful.

He was disappointed, but they had more than enough information to come up with strategies for each menace before them.

"Hah, you do not understand the strength of my challenge. You really believe that something that requires wits alone would overcome what I have in store for them?" Achilles slanted his eyes, almost offended that Cu had put Loki's pathetic challenge above his own.

Haley bit her lip, holding back the smile that was fighting to cross her lips. So Loki's challenge was going to require pure wits? She hoped Achilles would keep talking.

"Tch, If you think about it, yeah. If someone keeps trickin you to do the opposite of what you can to win then your power is useless." Cu shrugged and turned to look at the panel behind him.

"Fools! Truly you will not even come close to what I have in store for the lowly mongrels." Gilgamesh stood, his fists balled up at his sides,

"Shut it, Gil. All you're gonna do is throw weapons at people. Cu couldn't have been any more correct."

"There will be much more than just tossing my precious weapons, Achilles! You believe I would waste my valuable tools against the scum before me?!"

Haley side eyed Diarmuid whose appearance was glowing of pure gratification. It was impossible for her to hide the satisfaction, too. So Gilgamesh would not be utilizing the Gate of Babylon to the full extent. He would be implementing other things to not waste his weapons on them.

She just needed them to keep arguing which to her greatest pleasure- they did. Achilles threw that of course Giglamesh would waste his arsenal. What else could he possibly even be capable of doing? He had no knowledge on how to _properly_ use most of those weapons in his Gate- anyway.

At least when the competitors attempt to face him- they would not have a clue on how to handle his ever changing style that he planned to perform. Which means he would be the toughest to take down.

Loki interjected, palm raised. That was enough from them. They were both inferior to himself. While yes they had the strength and weaponry; but if they could not utilize their strengths because they were manipulated- like in his challenge- there was no way that anyone could win.

Brawn is important- but it is how you utilize it. So naturally, Cu was correct in his assessment that being fooled continuously could easily make him impossible to defeat. He would have the Forsaken cowering from his deceptions.

Gilgamesh easily countered. The Detainers were allowed to assist their Forsaken in Loki's challenge. Of course there will be magus that could easily see through his sorcery. While for him- there was no way even a high lord or demon could defeat all of his treasures.

There was truly no attack when you were struck first. If you cannot make it to your opponent, what do you do then? There was also the fact that he would have them do more than just face his massive weaponry. They could not win.

Achilles guffawed. There were no wits that could surpass his pure fighting spirit. It did not matter what the challengers possessed- he was of legend. Of brilliance. He would easily take out those who contested him because of his unlimited skill set that he possessed..

He need not be held back by using a spear alone. His unpredictability would easily stump all who come against him.

"Alright then! WELL!" The Announcer, Briscella, strut in, her dress dragging across the air as she hovered in front of the arguing God's behind her. "You have been given the answer to your question! Thus so, an Observer shall escort you back to the Hotel once you retrieve your reward!"

"We truly thank you _all_ for giving us such valuable information," Diarmuid said with a bow, his smile broadly across his lips.

The laugh of Cu Chulainn filled his ears. When he lifted from his position, Cu had inched closer. He leaned on his leg, and engulfed his Master's personal space grinning like mad,

"Heh, I thought that might be what you two were up to."

Had Cu Chulainn played along with the ploy? Haley smirked, and met his eyes with a triumphant stare. It was impossible to not feel victorious.

After witnessing them bicker with each other over respect- the idea dawned on her to attempt to spark them to argue again.

Earlier, when they bickered, she mentally plotted with Diarmuid a different method of approach. The panel before them was too fickle. There was no way they would allow someone to explain their best and worst qualities, no matter how accurate.

She banked on them chiming in with their own corrections or possibly even added to whatever Cu knew about them. They were too proud to allow him to choose who would be the superior boss.

Diarmuid expressed hope that they would boast about what made them the best- and it paid off. Sure, there was a chance they would not and allow Cu to explain and have them go- but it just seemed unlikely given how many cocky personalities lingered up there.

"You all make it too easy," She said, taking a cautious step towards Diarmuid, "But seriously, thank you Cu Chulainn. Especially for being... decent. It was refreshing, even though you're frightening."

"Frightening isn't even the word, young lady." Merlin sang, "But good job, you two."

"Tch, you old coot. Everyone here frightens you," Cu shrugs, "But I guess she has the right to be afraid." He winked at the unsuspecting woman, then disintegrated into a flash of blue speckles.

Haley rolled her thumb on her temple. Attempting to understand Cu Chulainn was not worth the effort. At least he was somewhat approachable. Terrifyingly ruthless, but friendly. What a combination.

Though, her analysis of him and those around him... deadly. Not one of them even bothered to shield their competency. Each one outranked them ten fold.

It's clear that without that "no kill" rule in place, they would be annihilated. For them to win it would require a ton of planning. Knowing their individual challenges is helpful enough, getting a read on their skill, even better, but having the knowledge on their individual strengths and weaknesses was impertinent to their survival against them.

Briscella guided them out, and instructed them to wait for their escort Observer to find Anna so she would give them their rewards for the match. With that simple instruction, the double doors swung closed behind them. The sound echoing into the empty hall that led to the lobby of the Dome.

Diarmuid turned to meet Haley's quick, unexpected embrace. She wrapped around his waist, his arms flinging over his head in surprise. His eye twitched, wincing from the cuffs that dug into him from the motion.

A sigh escaped his lips. While he had just recently agreed to welcome her physical approaches, he did not imagine she would be so bold. Her admitting she was physically expressive was putting it lightly. The corner of his mouth pulled upward.

"Our plan worked! We did it! That was freggin awesome!" She felt him loop his arms over her, so that the bottom of his palms would tap her back. A simple attempt at returning her hug. She assumed the resisting chains made it difficult to envelop her.

She leaned in closer to his coolness, the scent of rain still lingering on his person from their past victory, to relieve any tension. She peered up at him through her lashes as he spoke,

"Well, my Lady, most of it was you. Your quick adjustment of our question, however brazen, was a stroke of genius."

"Yeah, but it was you who thought of how to structure it to give us information on all angles, if the Gods were to spat about the answer Cu gave."

She really felt how they worked together made them a good team. She was relieved. When they had first started, she was worried that they would clash, given how different their approaches were.

Alas, it had not turned out that way thus far. The true testament to their partnership was to be these Boss battles. Cu won't allow her to fight, but it seemed the other three fully intended on involving the Detainers.

It was unfortunate that Cu did not know what each challenge was entirely, but because of their detailed task, they irked the Gods enough to spill the answers themselves. It was so satisfying.

Haley attempted to pull back, but the realization she was shackled in place by his grip brought them both to an awkward stare that quickly turned to gentle laughter. She dipped underneath his arms, as he dropped their way to his waist and stepped back.

"Sorry, I forgot. Are your... wrists okay?" She tentatively touched the shackles, lightly tracing the bruising welts in between the cuffs.

If only she could heal him completely. She only imagined how intense the pain must be from the Divinity pulsing through the metal. Thinking back to when she was in that basement, she might have an idea.

Her hands begging for release from the tight chains that hung her, tipped forward mostly by her wrists alone so she could see the cuffs before her. The bareness of her toes barely kept her on the cold cement. The chafing that edged so deep. The pain was unbearable.

She was told to remove them, without the key. It took her six days, to finally get the atoms right in the chain to snap it. She shuddered at the memory so vividly replaying in thought.

Diarmuid pulled his hands gently from her touch and brought them up and over to cover hers. He had not known where her mind went- but her fixation on his binding left nothing but a dolefulness that burned through their pact. It was a mixture of emotions not entirely geared toward himself, which was troubling.

"What-" He had not known how to put it simply in words. Maybe he should not press. They were enjoying their victory, after all. Though, her blissful attitude has wavered and it felt unjust to not try to figure out why and then attempt to lift her spirits once again, "Is wrong, my Lady? You seem to be uneasy, and I do not sense it to just be in concern for me."

The considerate placement of his hand on hers snapped her back. It had been a while since she got stuck in her memories like that. There were times she looked upon his injuries and almost got lost in them- but this was a little too much.

She shook her head and attempted a smile. He was worried, and he shouldn't be, "Sorry. Sometimes- that happens. Memories suck, ya know?" She chuckled, pulling her hands from his to rub her arm, "I get triggered randomly by the strangest things... it looks like this time was the handcuffs."

She watched Diarmuid nod, as if expecting more. She sighed. She did say she would open herself up to him more, guess now would be as good a time as any.

She went on to tell the story, of how her father wanted to strengthen her mental control with vision alone. So one of his methods was that he cuffed her in the position he had, to push her to break the chain. How he manipulated the magic around her- so she could not heal or mend the wounds at all.

Eventually she was able to break the chains, and the healing ensued soon after. Relinquishing any trace of the damage, besides what lay in her memories.

The freshness of the wounds in Diarmuid's chains just made her think about it. It was nothing to worry about as it comes and goes rather quickly.

"Even so," Diarmuid arches his arms so his knuckles could brush upon the arm she gripped and rubbed. Something he realized she did when feeling any sort of anxiety, "Those memories are rather difficult for you, and understandably so. I am not sure of what I could say best to ease those feelings. However, if you feel the need to talk about those burdens, please feel free to use me for your comfort. I will gladly do my best."

"You- you are so sweet, you know that?" She complimented, a heavy feeling swaying her heart.

Diarmuid leaned against the wall. He was only being honest, and served to be useful to his Lady, but was pleased that her demeanor definitely rose. He was to reply, but an Observer finally joined them, exiting from the stadium.

He apologized for having them wait. There was a bit of trouble with some Forsaken he had to deal with first. Thus making it difficult to locate Anna, the woman who was to bestow them with their currency, which he dropped into Haley's palms.

Diarmuid looked to Haley who shrugged. He had attempted to ask- but was linked to the man's belt showing no interest to further explain.

He dragged them along instead, guiding them back to the hotel where he disbanded the cuffs. In twenty one hours, they would be able to utilize their five days of free roam that was gifted to them from the key they obtained. He then ditched them to their own vices.

Diarmuid suggested they get something to eat, and Haley obliged. She was so famished. They needed to figure a better eating and sleeping schedule for her, and him?

He was a soul in a fake body the underworld created in likeness of his past self. The best he could do was completely relax and conserve the energy it takes him to maintain function in said body.

However, it was less necessary now that he was being restored with her mana. He felt very similar to his Servant self with slight modifications of the components. Like how his Servant makeup was almost exactly as a real one, with his own heat signature where this particular body was still clearly dead and bitter cold. That was interesting.

As for food consumption? Of course he could. It was just broken down to magical energy just the same. To think there could actually be a new meaning to the term, "soul food" was almost comical. Almost.

At least now, after asking the lady at the counter, she knew that they could eat the living’s food. But they were advised to seldom do it for it could cause... issues with desperation.

She was struck by how the souls could not catch a break from the side effects of being well, dead. Even in this tournament being supplied with mana, it seemed. If only there were more she could do to help him feel even a little more human.

"Well, if it is not the power duo."

Diarmuid tensed at the voice. There were other participants here- as to be expected. Though, he was not expecting any to approach them as they gathered food to bring to their confinements.

He took a protective step in front of his Master, shielding her from view of the woman who approached. She was accompanied with a tall, slender man draped in an all back suit.

Diarmuid's lips parted, was this not the woman and the man who had attacked them on the enemy lines when they were on the ship? The very Magus that Haley took down with her from the pole?

How was she not sent back to the Counter Force since losing the tournament? His eyebrows came together, as her mischievous smile planted across her wicked features.

"I did not think you two would show your faces after being crowned a threat," Medea, if he remembered correctly, pulled at the length of her purple hair, "Tell me, just how exactly did you manage to win? That power of yours, I would like insight of it and how to beat it. In exchange, I will tell you some underlying fundamentals of this madness we are participating in. So, what do you say? I am sure my offer is tempting."

\---------------------------------------

In her private chamber, Athena ruffled through the feathers of her luscious white Owl. They were soft as fleece, and bright like the moon. His lemon pupils shined, as his head twisted, familiarizing the man in the room.

It cooed, and fluffed his feathers as it took flight and landed on the man's-who graciously appeared behind her-, shoulder.

She does not meet his gaze, as she works through the pages of the recently delivered books of the underworld. "So, that little show was why you wanted to allow them to speak," She said, with a click of her tongue.

"Certainly. We did want to see what they would come up with. To see if their intelligence was on par with their strength." He stroked her Owl under his chin, "As you can see, what they did with the opportunity surprised all of us."

"And caught unnecessary attention." She rose a scolding finger, and turned another page,

"Why yes, that is true. But they had earned their chance to speak, wouldn't you say?"

Another figure materialized in her room, leaning their back against the bookshelf. He folded his arms as he listened to his fellow comrade indulge the stunning Goddess.

The poor souls were being tortured one way or another. It was only natural to reward them for conquering those ordeals with at least hearing them out. He had not expected they would be suspicious of the key's reward.

It was amusing how much more they planned into just a simple statement of declaring a legitimate answer. The payoff was entertaining as their attempt at creating a cunning question.

The man on the wall chimed in- The two also had a point. If the games in the tournament were not fun to the Panel, then all of their hard planning would fall apart. Letting them speak might have actually helped them in their future goals in retrospect.

Plus, it was down right hilarious with what shenanigans ensued thereafter.

"I've heard enough. I will continue to play along, so long as the outcome is as predicted." Athena said with flatness in her tone.

"Absolutely, my dear Goddess." He bowed, and the owl fluttered from his shoulder and perched on his pole.

"Then continue to have your fun, and leave me be. I must decipher this text."

The two men nodded, exchanging glances. They would indeed do just that. It _was necessary, after all._

While one of them did not quite enjoy the suffering the souls had been complacent with, he had accepted it must happen to accomplish their goals. The other simply enjoyed their involvement. The souls were destined to hell, and it did not matter to him what his Lord did with their captives, so long he didn't fancy them.

Regardless, it was time to put the second part of their plan in motion, while their Goddess worked on translating the strange text. They then disappeared in a flurry of speckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing so many characters on one scene is a pain in the ass, just saying.


	14. Strolling through the Arena

The bag of food crinkled in between Haley's trembling fingers. Impossible. She should be sent back to, well, she did not know. If she leaked out of the Throne of Heroes, then possibly with the counter force. She was told a majority of the Heroic Spirits that slipped out were in their own little paradise or were being re-routed. 

Maybe she was stuck here until they or the Throne of Heroes repaired itself? Though, why did she want to know the extent of her telekinesis if she was not still in the tournament? The offer to know more is definitely as.. tempting as she proclaimed. However, her energy is extremely off putting. It's filled with lies, and betrayal.

"How- How the hell are you still participating?"

Medea scoffed. Annoyed, that she rather answer her question with a question. But she guesses it was expected. She was the loser in that match, much to her dismay. She should have utilized in full ability the rain of light. Though if she had, she was sure the special sponsor she had would have been furious and refuse to continue helping her. 

Plus, she was having too much fun causing trouble for the God's that were manipulating this ridiculous tournament. She clearly underestimated the skills the enemies possessed. That bullet was still causing disarray in her magic. 

Though this girl in particular... The way she had Souichirou dangling from the ship, and herself dragged down the skies, was infuriating. An ability outside of magic- because she surely did not have access to anything that would allow otherwise - was beneficial.

"Well, I stabbed myself with rule breaker, you see. So the rules of that event did not apply to us. So even though we suffered defeat.. I was still able to rescue Souichirou and survive. You know, loopholes and all.” She decided to leave away that she hadn't actually stabbed herself, and the rules just didn't apply since the hosts considered her weapon the loophole. But close enough, right? 

“Just like you and that strange ability. It is not common at all. So please, tell me how did you obtain something like that?"

Diarmuid took a protective step forward. Information had been proving crucial to their success, especially if it were on the background of this facade. Howbeit, this woman is not known for being truthful. Her legends suggest more treachery than his own. The way she manipulated the previous battle was the proof he needed. 

Now she was here, before them after defeat, _admitting_ she had a way to disregard the competition? He could only imagine what else that dagger would do if they came in contact with it should she use it against them. Letting his Master- Detainer- indulge her any longer was not wise.

"While we appreciate your offer- my Master has food, and we are in a hurry. So if you would please," he laid out his palm, "We must go."

Haley watched as Medea's eyes narrowed, and spied the man next to her who remained silent, emotionless. Medea corrected him that she was to be called, "Detainer", now. The language of the Grail War did not apply here, even though the command seal said otherwise. 

She sighed. She could not deny that what she offered wasn't tempting. Diarmuid's soul depended on any background information they could get. 

It was just difficult to trust someone who was known to well, be the opposite of trustworthy. She was responsible for some shady things in her war. The documents supported that. But if she ever paid close attention to her true story, and what she was trying to accomplish in the Grail Wars, she had her reasons. 

Maybe Diarmuid could lighten up a little. She already exposed her most valuable gift, and it was ridiculously hard to tap into- anyway. Psychic abilities were rare for obvious reasons.

"Wait, Diarmuid," Haley inspected the food court. It was decorated with granite tables that connected together. There were paintings depicting the legends of the Panel across the golden walls. She was almost disgusted by the portrait of Gilgamesh that had "Glorious" written underneath it. She was sure they could sit and discuss while she ate there. "We can entertain them for a little bit."

Diarmuid leered over his shoulder. Was she certain? He mentally checked, and she affirmed. Through his various objections: such as how laying her gifts on the tables for those to replicate would be a disaster, they had sat in the court with the woman and the seemingly soulless man next to her. 

They had agreed he would subject them to prove themselves trustworthy. They were not aware that Haley could read them. So he would pry a bit to make sure this was even worth their efforts.

"Before my Lady indulges you, we would like to test your honor. It would be detrimental for us to discuss our strengths while you have no intention of sharing the knowledge you speak of. I am sure you understand."

Medea's cackle filled the air and caught a couple of curious glances from the bystanders. They would test her before sharing with her any knowledge? She guessed they weren't as foolish as they looked. Trusting her would be a bad idea. She would twist whatever information she gave to bring herself closer to victory. She was certainly curious what they would even have her do. 

Diarmuid explained they would just ask a series of questions, so his Lady can get a better read on her energy. That way—when the real talk came— they would have a better understanding of her character as well the signals she would give off if she were deceiving them in some way. 

An interesting way to handle things. Did she have some sort of spell that would help her decipher truth from lies? Best be careful, then.

The first set of questions were simple. The ones that people have no issues answering, like, 'are you a woman'. The rest became slightly more complicated. They had decided to ask Souichirou the same questions, in case he decided to lay into the conversation. 

Which he countered he would not. Anything Medea did was of her own volition, and he was just following along for the best strategy. She had not failed him before, and he did not want to take in consideration the traitor in their ranks. He was a bit more cautious with these two.

"I believe we have given you enough. Tell us now, how did you obtain that power?" Souichirou asked simply.

Haley halted her chewing. She was having Diarmuid do all the questioning while she read them. She was _eating_ after all. A full meal never felt so amazing. She wasn't exactly heavy on the money while fleeing, so she only ate enough to hold her over for the day. The food here was actually a blessing in disguise. 

Swallowing, she placed the fork down and patted her lips with the soft napkin. Time once again, to open doors to people about things she'd rather keep buried forever. 

She met Diarmuid's patient eyes, as he nodded once. They had what they needed. She knew how to read this woman before her. There was definitely treachery in every fiber of her being. She was to tread lightly, as her and he mentally agreed.

"I was tortured into mastering it after it manifested from previous constant abuse."

Medea's mouth dropped as she studied the pare. That- what? "Excuse me?"

Haley went into further detail. She recalled the day that brought on the ability. Her father, with his bare hand, fingered a shard of glass into her abdomen, wedging it deeper. This was the eighth one he jammed into her, while her arms and legs were bound. He was working her on healing—by using the magic to remove the glass first—and then repairing the damage. 

She had not a clue of how to do that. He went on further that she would have to repair the damaged muscle and tissue underneath the shards of glass, so they would expand and push the piece out. That was difficult. She was only able to reattach her skin, which only trapped the shards inside her. 

Angry, he plunged his fingers into her thigh and twisted the glass, ripping more of the muscle. Begging him to stop she clenched her eyes shut, and imagined what he wanted- the flesh underneath the broken glass fixing itself. Only, it didn't heal, instead, the pieces all flung out as her father instructed- along with the hand he drove inside her leg.

"I guess you can say it came from the push of knowing the chemistry makeup of my body and the will to thrust. That, paired with the mental strain, it amplified and caused the telekinesis to manifest." She said slowly, scraping the fork on the empty, silver plate, fixated on the crumbs she moved about. "You want to know how to get such a gift? Well, maybe if you think on whatever trauma you have and focus your mind enough on the makeup of objects, you can strengthen your mind to move things."

"You- you expect me- that is not possible. There is nothing more? _Nothing_ else you can think of? How are you so good with it now? Did you not learn anything about the skill developed to do so?" Medea questioned, almost shaken. Clearly that was not what she expected. Either this woman was lying- or...

"No, I got stronger at it because..." Haley cringed, not liking the further explanation. She figured they had enough to figure out the rest, "Because I was forced to learn exactly what I told you. I studied ions, atoms, and the works to know the composition of what I was moving. Once I got that- well, the story I told you just gets amplified."

Diarmuid leaned on the granite, laying a hand on his Master's shoulder. Every time she spoke of her past, the sickness he felt in his gut grew. Such vile things were done to this woman, and based on her comments, there were still worse stories to tell. Her sharing her past seemed to be understandingly difficult. 

He had known Magus to be detestable to be around, but this man seemed far worse. He was lucky to have served a Lord he thoroughly enjoyed being around in life. He was surrounded by the knights of Fianna, those whom he would come to call family. While she… did not have a soul. 

Well, until now. He vowed to himself then, that while together: he would show her that she is valuable beyond her abilities. 

He brought his attention to the witch in front of him and the man who's blank, emotionless expression made his cells burn. They had heard enough, it was their turn to provide.

Medea shook her head. Impossible. There was more to getting this power than what she had stated. But alas, there was no more they could give. At least it was not a total waste. She has an extent to that woman's power. It was mastered, just like all of her magic. 

It was her turn to uphold her part of the bargain. She gave her one thing, so she will give her a single piece as well. An underlying part of the tournament, yes. What she meant by that. Well, if not obvious, they were allowed sponsors. Those who would help them in the Arena. 

However, it was never stated how. So she dug, and apparently. The judge's panel could sponsor as well. Who knew? Those who caught the eyes of the designers would get even more special treatment. They had their own little bet on the players. 

Even though they are supposed to be neutral, they are far more shady than they let on. Purposely ending the souls themselves to push their agenda. So if they were not careful- they could easily be eliminated by one of those beasts.

Haley watched as they pushed from the table and left. Didn't seem they had any more interest in chit chat after Medea's statement. Which left very little signs of malice. It all rang true, and the only subtle intention she felt was she was trying to unnerve them. Which honestly- wasn't going to work. 

So, the Host's were having their own little competition up there, and were manipulating the souls in the ring. Well, it was to be expected, especially with the way things had been going down. Looks like their effort to obtain their respect was a good idea, if they had any of it. Though... 

She met Diarmuid's honey and crimson stare. Someone _did_ interfere with them, already. When he inhaled that poison. Kiritsugu said they wouldn't receive sponsors until that second round was over. Yet someone _definitely_ looked out for them in that moment. But who?

"What is it, my Lady? What are you thinking?"

"That... this is a load of B-effing-S."

\--------------------------------

Her sleep seemed unnatural, yet again. The tossing in the sheets, and the grumbling of incoherent words, that it was severely troubling. He debated waking her. It seemed more gracious than allowing her to struggle like that. He checked the watch before making a final decision. Maybe if he focused on something else _besides_ the woman on the bed, he would realize her discomfort was less often than he assumed. 

135 hours. It had only been five days? It felt much longer. They had already conquered so much. He pressed through and found the option for "Sponsors". Something he was curious about after their conversation with the witch. It read, '3/3 spots filled'. 

Did that mean they met the maximum capacity allowed for help? If so, that was relieving. The only question was if their spectacle they displayed in front of the Panel was detrimental to their success. If only he had Haley read that portion of their demeanor then their individual skills and intentions.

Haley groaned, as her knuckles slapped her eyelids. Sleep was always a fifty fifty. She was either plagued by disastrous nightmares—reliving her torture as if they were happening again—or actually having a clear head. 

She would think after all of the cleansing she did on her mind when learning curse-craft that she would be able to block the night terrors. However it proved impossible as it seemed to latch on to her brain much harder than any curse she could imagine. Talking about it earlier probably triggered it, anyhow. 

She sat up and pulled the sheets from her person to meet the worried stare of her partner on the couch he seemed to adore. The little glow of the watch reflected off his features in the dark of the room. She forgot that he did not need sleep like she did.

"Are you unable to sleep, my Lady?"

"Yeah, guess so. Sleep and I never really got along."

Diarmuid watched as she stretched her arms above her head, flexing her folded fingers. Her frizzy hair fell over her back, that was exposed to the blades of her shoulders from the tank that she wore. She slid out from the bedding to stand and let out a small breath. 

The way she adjusted the shorts she wore with the tone of her legs peeking through the fabrics gave him a light smile. She leaned over pulled the string of the table lamp brightening the room. Even though she had only slept for a few hours, she did not seem to be held back by the lack of it. 

He turned his attention towards the crack in the patio doors, a breeze swaying the curtains, and had a thought however unsure she would agree to it. "My Lady... would you.. care to take an evening stroll with me?"

Her face perked up, lit by the creeping light of the night and the glow of the lamp. That actually sounded lovely. They could even catch up on _many_ things that have been left to explain. There was still so much about him she wished to learn: and wanted to tell him about herself, even. 

There was very little mistrust in their connection- but it still loomed ever so slightly. It would also be a great way to see the entire map of the Dome. There was much more to the outside of the Arena itself, and they were allowed to explore. And nowhere did it state at what time.

"I'd like that."

She was unsure of what the weather would be like this late. Painfully aware of how cold the underworld was- she took caution and changed out of her bed shorts and pulled a pair of jeans on. She grabbed the crimson cardigan from the silver bar and slipped her arms through. 

If it were warmer than expected, at least she could pull it off and tie it at the waist. She leaned on a knee and completed the bow on the boots Diarmuid picked out. She refused to wear them in the Tournament. He had been slightly dismayed, but she wanted to savor their beauty. Tainting them in the muck would be such a waste of their craftsmanship.

Exiting the Lobby of the Hotel, Haley admired the elaborate setting they were to talk through. The moon hung over the bejeweled Dome, seemingly bright, in a cloudless sky surrounded by a cluster of stars. The windows glimmered in the moonlight. 

The air was warm, but the breeze was light and cooled her skin. She enjoyed how fresh it all felt, however fake it really was. Her eyes scattered around, taking in each route they could take. Were they to follow the wide sidewalk to the fountain that circled out to either the left of the hotel? It led to a boardwalk of sorts. 

Or should they bear right and follow the path towards the Dome, which had fields that stretched long past the gigantic coliseum that it was? Honestly, they did need to scout out the perimeter to see if there were any hints of a possible challenge being outside it. 

She looked to Diarmuid, who raised his eyebrows, asking the same question she debated within herself.

Diarmuid concluded he wanted a break from everything the Arena challenged him with. It had been a damning day, and he tired of without fail being constantly on edge. A simple sauntering around that stretch of scenery would be much more satisfactory. 

He extended his elbow to whom he would still call his Master, as she detested the language given in the tournament for their connection. He was not sure why, it was relatively the same, but had not questioned it. 

She gallantly intertwined her arm around his and shrugged into her shoulders with a befitting smile. This had been the first time she took it so graciously without question in her mannerisms. It brought his lips upwards in a laudative smile.

It had been such a long time, he came to realize, that he had even been so euthymic with a woman. To be completely... _unguarded._ Most of his past days required tedious effort to avoid, deny, or to comply with the desires of the women who looked upon the spot. 

He had enjoyed it at one point, until it eventually brought him longing and distance. To continuously have women who were glossed, hypnotic and throwing themselves mercilessly at him found its way to being tiresome. Then it led to the animosity between his great Lord and his fellow knights... a curse it truly made itself out to be. 

Though his Master... her eyes had never shown a hint of obsession, or wash. Her comments and demeanor always reflected a pure and honest energy. He was pleased and very well enjoyed her company more so because of it.

She gently held the muscle of his arm, and almost pranced- pointing at the lovely scenery. The Gods really did work out their best artwork with the details they put into their surroundings. 

Apart from the marvelous speckled sky and third quarter moon looming over them- the walkway was lined with lush, leafy green neem trees in small hills of grass. Flower bushes swayed in the draft of air, pink petals fluttering in the waft. 

The further they continued, the pathway curving around the perimeter of the Hotel, Diarmuid spotted a red, wooden fence that arched inward. In the indent of the field of grass began a small stream filled with gravel of different size, slowly carried into a lake from the very path they took. Fountain streams were placed strategically in various parts of the glistening water.

Along their walk, they decided to discuss some of the issues at hand that they had to gloss over for some time. Haley admitted that she usually functioned on a couple of hours of sleep because of the dreams that plagued her mind. 

She went on to explain how she came to know about Diarmuid. With her endeavors, she only kept contact with one person periodically. A person who worked in the Magus Association. A young fellow who was always up to mischief. He would feed her information about what they knew of her whereabouts in return for tasks only she could complete with her abilities.

It was a fairly decent trade- and he never asked for anything out of the ordinary. The more detailed his tasks- the more information she got.

She pressed for the Grail War status. At the time of the 4th Grail war- she was seventeen. Her father had intended her to be a Master in that war and admitted his rigorous "training”—if thats what he wanted to call his torture—was to make her a weapon strong enough to take on Servants and win him the Grail.

Which was when she had enough, and felt she trained herself in another form of Psychic ability to successfully run off, thus causing her bounty. She studied the events of the Grail War, and even witnessed a few unfold, like the spilling of the cup. Eventually, after the fifth war, she was told about the tournament from her informant. 

There were rumors about it all over the Association. Some even say they were behind part of the corruption of the Throne of Heroes: as some magus were desperate to summon Heroic Spirits and use them to get to the root in one way or another, even after those kids shut down the Greater Grail along with the gates. 

What truly interested her, was that there was a Servant whose soul was sent there- and that was when she heard about him.

"Hearing you were sent here, when most Heroic Spirits were gathered elsewhere, really made my stomach curl. I read the files related to you, and I heard the rumored stories. You had every right to be upset with what happened... and then I was told it was because of the curse, and well," She tugged at her chestnut colored hair, combing her fingers from her free hand through the knots and straightening it, "It just made sense to try to help you. Especially with my skill set and all."

Diarmuid arched his head back, following the trail of stars that decorated the sky in a beautiful pattern. So that had been how she ended up here attempting to save him. He always wondered why she chose to help him, and how she came to know of his status in Hell's Lobby. 

The imperfections in her figure also came to light. She had been avoiding that bounty for ten years. Evading the world and only taking what she needed. Of course her physique would suffer from it. 

Then there were the dreams that plagued her mind. So much depth and yet he still felt she had more to tell. Like the skill she has kept from him thus far- for fear he would dislike her for it. She might have slightly mentioned it, but still kept it shrouded in mystery. A different question also came to him,

"Tell me.. you have an undeniably amazing power, why not use it to escape your captor? Why choose to flee instead of fight for your freedom?"

Haley rolled her lips into each other, "Because.. I don't want to be like him," She said, leaning the edge of her temple into his bicep, "My father did things to me that made me think how horrid it would be to do them to someone else. So I promised myself I'd be different, that I'd never hurt anyone like that. So that meant running away."

"I see." He was not sure what to think about it. On one hand: it was truly honorable that she would not result in violence towards others, on the contrary, it was necessary sometimes to protect yourself among other things. It was why he became a knight- there was a code to follow, at least. A way to fight and to kill. Bounded by rules to avoid unnecessary death and bloodshed. 

At least.. she was close in his beliefs. Wanting to be a good person was never a bad thing. In a way, it almost reminded him of when he fled. Almost. It was not necessarily his choice to run, but rather the Geas. Had he a choice.. he would have stayed true to his Lord. "Well, I must commend your efforts. It takes pride and dedication to stay true to such a nature."

"Trust me, I know." She chuckled, "It's why... I like people like you. You have your chivalry and nobility, and I feel it makes you a good person." She nudged his shoulder with her elbow, as he shook his head with a smile curling on his lips. She wondered what that look meant in his eyes, though. They almost reflected a remorse she could not quite figure out.

The avenue brought them to a bridge that overlooked the grandness of the lake. It reached the far edges of the barrier and wrapped to the back of the Dome. It seemed it looped toward the other end of the containment, where the Sacred Market lay. Following this path would undoubtedly lead them there, she figured. 

So they decided to take a detour on the overpass. She unlined her arm from Diarmuid as she climbed on top of the bridge's banister and swung her legs over. A single petal swayed from her hair. She caught the delicate piece and poked it onto the tip of Diarmuid's nose with a chuckle. 

Diarmuid plucked the flower piece and placed it gingerly on her knuckles that gripped the ebony. Such elegance would look much better on her. He crossed his arms over the bark and admired the reflection of the moonlight against the water. 

He lingered on her words, as he watched her prick the flower petals from his and her hair to scatter them below. They swayed gently in the breeze, and left ripples in the water where they drifted away. 

She fancied people like himself? Those who took pride in their chivalry? It was hard to believe. He had been berated often by the people of her time for believing in a Knight's Honor. Even here, in the underworld, had people insulting his ways.

"My lady...Have you really come to respect the code I so desperately try to uphold as a knight?"

Haley lifted a brow, cocking her head to her shoulder to see the shine of the moon brightening his features,

"Why wouldn't I?"

It was almost difficult—and shameful—to admit he felt.. broken. A majority of his original life had revolved around his honor, fellow Knights, and being faithful to his Lord Fionn. However true he was easing himself into forgiving his actions that ultimately led to the demise of that prospect, he had a second chance to do better. To prove himself, and that he could be loyal to his Lord. 

Instead, fate had graced him with almost a replica of his past life, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it. He squeezed his eyes shut and laid his forehead to the wood. When he felt the cool block, he cracked open his eyes, peering through the crevice of the hedge.

Haley's lips parted with concern, as her magic subtly flared. Understanding what that meant, she placed her palm on the lining of his spine, just in between the poking blades of his shoulders. The coolness of his body leaked through the fabric of the tight white shirt. 

She recalled how when she first felt the unnatural temperature of his form it made her uncomfortable, but now, it just affirmed how much she wanted to bring him the warmth he was missing. To save his soul from the fate of the underworld. 

She slowly brushed her finger tips down the crease of his spine, to ease any tension or discomfort he felt, as she listened to him recant the actions of the people who bashed him and his moral code.

He had done everything to have his Master, Kayneth, believe in his ability. That he was worthy, and could win him the Grail. He berated him, though. Continued to question his honor, and his motives, even accused him of attempting to seduce his mistress. 

He grit his teeth, and his fist began to shake from the tension. Even though he shared in the responsibility for her receiving the command seals to partake in the war, he would never stoop so low to actively try to steal his betrothed. He swore he was only attempting to fight in a noble battle with him, and defend his own honor. 

Kayneth spat on it. Said he was sick of all his talk of chivalry. Even went so far to call him a ghost granted by magic, a mere _puppet_. Now he fought here- in this underworld still very much so a ghost of his past self.. strung by the seals again. 

His only silver lining was that his Master-Detainer, this time around, looked past those faults.. but even she had disregarded his honor at one point.. so why would be true to what she had said so soon after believing otherwise? Be it not her fault with her times being so different, he was still unconvinced.

"You wouldn't... because no one in your era ever had. It was only a fellow Heroic spirit- a fellow _knight_ that.. truly understood what it meant to uphold codes of Honor and take pride in chivalry..." Saber... the King of Knights... who did nothing but gawk at him as he was commanded to commit suicide. 

Had she known? In his bout of rage- he could not be certain, anymore. All he knew was the second betrayal that led to him to curse all involved, even her.

Haley trailed her index finger down the line of his back thinking about what he said. An understanding smile forming across her lips. That all must have been extremely difficult. 

People in the modern era have lost the way they handled the ideals he held so true to his heart. Principles she did not quite get at first, but slowly pieced together what they meant, especially to him. 

Inching closer to Diarmuid on the bar, she hitched her arm under his left and laid her head to his shoulder, tracing the folds of muscle. Still, she would not take back what she said. She had come to respect his way of doing things- however different they might be from what they did now.

"You know, I don't have to be a Knight to get behind it. I will... and do mean what I said because- I accept that's part of who you are."

He lifted his forehead lightly from the beam of wood, and observed the motion of her finger stroking the lines in his skin. Her hair tickled his neck and wanted so much to lean into her for comfort—She was consoling him— after all. However the move felt too bold, too _doting_.

"Your... chivalry and honor might be different from how we do things now, but the core values are still the same. Your time had knights, my time has officers- similar to knights in a way of upholding the laws and moral codes. Heck, maybe you might've even been one," she chuckled as she imagined his already buff chest behind a bullet proof vest making him seem that much bigger, "But I really do accept your ways. It's really.. refreshing. The world lacks so much justice and respect nowadays. So I welcome it," she peered up at him through her ashes, "And everything that is you."

Diarmuid's heart quickened. She... would appreciate what others have denied, ridiculed and insulted so blatantly to his face? He had almost thrown the entire philosophy away. He had aimed to give up on his dream to ever serve, and be considered a loyal knight. 

Being in Hell's Lobby only furthered his focus to give up as he had no other end or means to accomplish it. Not until she had come along, and had lit a fire in his spirit he thought to put out long ago. 

To be accepted—and trusted—was all he longed for since those fateful moments. There was nothing but pure loyalty in the magic that he felt flowing from her. He bathed in the connection from their pact that bound him to her truth. He reached out and pulled her hand to his dipping face that lightly brushed his lips to her skin,

"My Lady, I am truly honored to have your approval. I will do my very best to be the man you believe me to be. I swear on my honor as a Knight."

Haley slid off the fence and clacked her boots to the cement. However, when she turned, Diarmuid had caught her as she swayed sideways into his arms. He felt it, somehow. The flow of her magic was pulling strands of darkness from his chest. He had not known when it really started, or when he noticed, but accepted it just the same. 

She hadn't said a word about it, and yet he knew she was successful yet again. He had thought that she could only do such a thing while her mind were in his own? But she clarified weakly that layers of curses manifest differently depending on their origin and since he had stages that were attached to different moments or emotions- it seemed this time it's fix was working through the sentiments that outlined it. If that were true then the start of his curse stemmed from his heightened tempestuous state when he stabbed himself.

She had witnessed it, this time. The crimson blanket where the white of his left eye should be, withdrawing on a single side of his iris. That perplexed, yet appreciative marveling from her words, and the pure happiness that was hidden behind it all. It was...adorable. 

Her mind became heavy. She did not expect their little endeavor to result in curse healing. But the opportunity presented itself and her magic reacted, so there was no reason not to attempt it. Plus, there was the bonus that it ended up in them.. having a moment that she would definitely hold dear. 

Haley tapped his cheek with the tip of her fingers, falling into the endless pits of gratitude in those gentle, golden brown eyes, "You know, you really have a beautiful smile... you should- wear it more often.." Was all she could muster as her eyelids closed, and she rested her weight into Diarmuid's embrace.

He curled her into his arms and drew her close to his person. She was lovely, and fit perfectly. Something he attempted to shy away from. She had drawn out all of her energy once again. 

So.. he had a beautiful smile that she wanted to glimpse more often? That was.. an odd request. He would try to meet it- if it were to make her happy. Something he realized he wanted more each passing hour. 

Chuckling, Diarmuid turned back to the Hotel. After taking a few steps, he paused and glimpsed over his shoulder. Had he imagined it? 

He angled himself to get a better look, but saw nothing. No one. However strange t _hat_ was. He was sure there were eyes focused on them, but shrugged it off. Haley's mana was drained, and he felt the back end of it. That would leave him weary, and suspicious. Maybe even a bit paranoid. The location was empty- only night birds fluttered about, and flower petals swirled in the breeze from the bushes. 

He shook of the uneasy feeling and smiled. His Master accepted every part of him. And he would do everything in his power to protect that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diarmuid x Haley forever ... just sayin ;-;  
> 


	15. Bounty

Diarmuid patted the beads of water from his face and tweaked the faucet off. He wanted to see for himself, how rather strange his face was by this point. He still had the demonic slit in his pupils, and his right eye was still red in the sclera. His left, however, was that crimson color on the right side alone, while the other returned to the rightful white that belonged there. 

He inspected with anticipation that if the other side had returned to white, his left eye would be completely back to its original hue. How long, he wondered, would that be? She was certainly weakening the curse and he could not quite comprehend how she was accomplishing it. Was working through his history truly all that was necessary to eliminate it? 

He pondered if he took some personal time to work through his misfortunes himself if it were possible to quicken the work. He clicked his tongue. Where would he even begin? He dragged out his breath and scratched at the back of his head, furrowing the strands of hair at his neck. Best to leave the curse healing to his Master who seemed to know much more than himself. 

He peered through the crack of the bathroom door, she was still very deeply tossing and turning in her sleep. How she could function so well with the way she slept was a mystery.

Hours dragged by and he sat at the edge of the bed. They were to examine the Dome further, today. Hunched over, he strapped on his boots, after tucking in the puffy, blue pants he wore. Straightening, he pulled the thick, grey tank over his belt and met Haley's arm. A gesture he would not tire of. It would now always remind him of their stroll, and how approving she was of him. 

Their venture was so pleasant, even after those memories plagued his spirits. Her bright persona was there to alleviate those feelings of unrest, attempting to grant his heart peace. How he could be so fortunate to have her by his side.. he did not know. Fate seemed to have favored him, this time around. He softened, and wondered if she took notice of his appreciative smile geared towards her as they strode out the door.

It was a pretty straight forward line back towards the Dome- and the entire Arena. Reading the map- their enclosure was a big square. The lake trailed behind the entire lot of buildings and ended at a colossal castle, where the Designers stayed, accompanied by small buildings for the Observers.

Past the Dome was the Sacred Market for the watchers. The infirmary he mistook for a general healing area, was in case the watchers or Observer's were to be injured. He would make sure they were to stay far away from there.

Following the pathway brought on memories of Haley's encounter with the Makeshift theme park. Was it just last week that they had been practically killed by Observers and then led back down this path to the Dome by Merlin? Who graciously saved them? If they bared right- inbetween the Hotel and the Dome, there was a secondary street that bled into an empty field. 

Haley watched the wind blow past the blades of grass, swaying under the sunlight. It was completely fenced in and accompanied a strong barrier. Observer's seemed to be training, or having sparring matches in the plains. She was impressed with how different but well they all fought with their melee weapons, among other strange crafts. 

A few had turned their attention to them, and Haley squeezed Diarmuid's arm in hopes they wouldn't deem them a problem. Thankfully, they had not seemed interested, or knew they were allowed to stroll the Arena.

Trailing back, they continued back to the massive coliseum and entered the lobby. There, it seemed the heavenly souls were scattered about, taking pictures and souvenirs. Haley cocked her head, wondering how that was possible. Diarmuid seemed interested as well. 

A couple had come up to them- and she worried that Diarmuid's spot would cause issues. The woman seemed alright, and was more curious with herself than him. The energy coming off the souls were very pure, and also seemed shielded. They gathered they must have divine protection- thus allowing them to be unaffected. 

The man had surprised her when he questioned her devotion after that second round, succumbing to torture to obtain keys. Most as she had expected, dropped out of those trials. Haley felt Diarmuid tense, but she patted his arm. Explaining over and over that she was just dedicated to her promise became slightly tiresome. She figured telling them she had also come to really care for his well being to be problematic, so she kept that to herself. 

She was also slightly frustrated that other challengers had different obstacles in that time, but the man did not elaborate on what they were. The woman, however, came to life and wanted Haley to show her the gifts she possessed. With a shrug, Haley made the woman twirl and she was delighted.

Once the couple left them after asking more probing questions, some of those souls gathered around them to take photos, while others cowered murmuring that Diarmuid must be possessed by a demon to have such disastrous eyes. He sighed. He was relieved when Observer's ushered the onlookers away, giving them the opportunity to travel the long hallway to the Arena. 

It was even more massive while empty, something he hadn't really thought of when they entered to chat with the Panel. He knelt so Haley could climb his back and allow him to make massive jumps to conquer the distance faster. They were so inferior to the massive space, and the bleachers were ghostly when empty. 

As he traveled across, he noticed the lining of bleachers was sectioned off every couple of miles. Haley pointed out that there was lingering magic, and she was surprised that they must be creating the different levels they faced. So how did they put them in a torture room, then create a massive ocean and ships? It was really strange.

When they had gotten to the edge, they realized there was just not much to explore here, either. They must be adjusting the Arena for each challenge, enhancing the area with spells and recreating landscapes through the monstrous acres of land inside it. 

Haley looked up from the tallest part of the bleacher, and saw runes and other magical items lining the ceiling. It must have been how they shadowed the course before. Sliding off Diarmuid's back, she crouched on her knees and lay her palm flat in the concrete. She senses magic underneath them as well. It felt like there was another vast area even underneath the massive enclosure. Insane. 

She stood, planting her hands at her hips. Were they to fight the leaders of the panel in this entire space? This would be some battlefield. Diarmuid shrugged, but assumed it was plausible.

Diarmuid stiffened. Something was- off and familiar in the air. He stepped closer to his Master and glanced around. Where was... this ominous feeling coming from? And could she sense it? She planted her back into his chest. 

She did. There were multiple intent of capture lingering in the shadows of the dome. They needed to go. Before they could, he grabbed her and spun so the blade would enter his back instead of her. He hissed and pulled her into his arms, her legs dangling over his crease as she huddled into him. 

He was ready to sprint, but met the cloaked figures from the first day. This was bad. They were surrounded, five to one, and he felt there were more hidden in the Dome and he was not to defend against them. 

He called out and met his own echo. No one would come to help them. He crouched, and as the enemy readied their stars, he sprang- high in the air, leaping over them. He did not think to look back as he took off running towards the exit closest to him, instead of backtracking the many miles of the Arena.

He was faster thanks to their link that shared her mana with him, but she could not perform the spell to make him even better. She peeked through one eye the double doors that would hopefully lead herself and Diarmuid out of the damn dome into the Observers so they could put an end to these wretched pursuers. 

Extending her hand, she willed the doors to swing open. Figures dropped in front of the opening she created, one appearing miraculously next to them swinging a dagger that almost collided with Diarmuid's arm. 

He side stepped out of the way, but impacted with a different figure whose cloak wrapped over them, slamming them into the pavement. Haley practically bit her tongue. Damn it all. She debated dropping the ground from their feet- but worried damaging the Arena in any way would cause even more issues. What could they do?

Diarmuid grabbed the fabric from the creature and pulled with all his strength, unraveling the strange form underneath. Were these familiars? Its face was nothing but a pointed oval with piercing red eyes, and the body took the shape of armor but was soft to the touch. 

It made a strange sound and wrapped itself again, as it swung its blade for his throat. He knocked it easily from it; grip, sending the weapon flying somewhere else in the Arena. It expanded its arms ready to engulf them but still with Haley in his grip, he pushed off the ground into the belly of another, using the weight of their force to knock it back. 

Without hesitation, he turned tail to the exit doors. The Familiars lined the double doors, chucking their weapons that Haley easily flung to the side. He would push through their little barricade as they were weak.

They crashed through the figures and into the back lawn of the dome. It was lined with intense weaponry among other utensils. They definitely were not supposed to be here. There was a cinder block wall that stretched as high as the dome. Going either left or right led straight to dead ends. They were trapped. Unless... She focused, as Diarmuid dodged a silver blade that made a clang when it hit the grey wall.

"Diarmuid, run the wall! Don't question it! GO!"

He didn't, he trusted his master and her creative ideas and shimmied up the wall, feeling a tingling in his limbs. Was she using her gifts to glide him up? It mattered not, he was scaling the concrete with speed he was not mustering himself. 

His weight slung to the left as weapons bounced from impact with things other than himself. He was almost to the top, and felt the monsters trailing close behind. He was practically flung over the wall, the soles of his feet barely making contact with the base. 

His eyes cast down, those things were copying them! They practically glided up and over. He took off, running along the thin edge to make their way to the front of the Dome. He wished his master could enhance his already incredible speed with her magic. There was something in the air that halted her sorcery of any kind when outside the Arena. 

They raced to reach the right end of the surface that overlooked the fields. The Hotel was off in the distance- if they could just make it to the other side these things would not follow. Shouldn't, as it would catch too many wondering eyes.

They were relentless, though. There was not nearly enough room to dodge the attacks- and more of those blades skid past their skin. Diarmuid didn't so much as blink as the stars began lodging into his legs and arms. They were so close- As one dropped right in front and he slid to a stop. It squealed and held out a blade. 

He looked over his shoulder, and the others lined up behind him. There was no other option. His and Haley's eyes locked as they looked over the edge and jumped. The wind slapped their faces and he felt that electrifying sensation in his body once more as they slowed the closer they got to the bottom. He felt that energy pull the stars from his body and wasted no time in continuing their escape down the alley behind the dome.

Why were these things after them? She had thought at first they were just Hell's messengers trying to stop them from reaching the Arena. That was obviously so very wrong. These were magical familiars that looked damningly human minus the missing facial features. They were also much more agile than before. Feathery footsteps trailed behind and above them. 

At this point, she debated using her skills to propel them away. Who was here to enforce the fight outside the Arena, rule, anyway? They were only accompanied by a courtyard full of an assortment of abandoned weaponry. If she could just keep them in far range- they could reach the end of the Dome which would have the paths to the Hotel again hopefully forcing them to retreat. 

Leaping over the few barricades in between and small buildings would be easy. Maybe they would bump into someone they could report this to afterward.

Continuing to elude these things was proven frustrating. They had an endless array of weapons that aimed and met skin. Their persistence refusing to slow. They had reached the edge of the dome's roof and turned only to meet the familiars now blocking the path that led to the entrance. 

Diarmuid had expected them to cower once reaching the eyes of onlookers and Observers. Instead, he had to propel over more of those damn monsters, instead. Their numbers were increasing. To the side of himself as the lake water streamed down along the dome. He knew his Master would waste no time utilizing the water like before to send crashing waves behind them, halting the familiars ever so slightly. 

Water broke apart, barely slowing them down but it was enough to start creating any sort of distance between them.

"Alright, that is enough."

Diarmuid's face smothered into fabric, as a figure appeared in an array of navy and black speckles. Haley's head knocked into Diarmuid's chest with a thud. She shook off the mild headache that was forming and looked up at the God before them and shuddered. That was not a welcoming aura at all. 

She thought of every side way she could give to find a loophole in the "no fighting outside the Arena" rule. She was terrified what this powerful Lord before her would do to her. To  _ Diarmuid _ . 

He did not even give them a glance, as he held his palm out and the creatures behind and above them screeched and dissipated into ash followed by a ping. Loki stalked over, Diarmuid stumbling out of his way as he went to retrieve the object.

Diarmuid collected himself after being carelessly shoved aside.. He gently placed Haley back on her feet to meet the whimsical gaze of the God behind them. His lips were pressed in a firm line as he threw an oddly shaped, square stone at his Master who caught it frantically. 

She blanched as she inspected it. He worried what is was, but was more concerned over the Divine spirit next to him and leaned over his arm,

"My Lord Loki," he began, trying to find the words to say that would not anger the Lord, "We are grateful to you for removing our pursuers, we had not engaged them in battle, only fled."

Loki waved his hand, "Silence. I did not ask you to speak. I am only interested in what that woman has to say about the stone."

Haley looked in between Diarmuid and Loki and swallowed. This stone... she recognized it, and wished she did not. She skimmed her thoughts to find a reasonable answer. Loki would catch her in any lie. 

What did this mean? Was he... here? It couldn't be. She did not recognize him in the sea of Detainers any time she'd been with them. It only left the possibility someone might just be waiting for any opportunity to get them alone. 

But how would they know she was going to the Dome? It was so very strange. It was also horrifying.. she had to win this tournament now- or else… "It's- It's a rune stone laced with my magical energy."

Diarmuid eyes widened. Why in the world would those familiars have something like that embedded in their bodies? He carried his attention to the God who folded his arms across his chest, the heavy silk swaying from the motion. His pointed chin perked up, while his eyes narrowed.

"I am aware of what it is, woman. My interest is what you have to  _ say _ about it. Do not make me repeat myself again."

Haley grabbed the length of her arm. It was a rune meant to track her, she guessed. It had her magical signature to make it easier for the creatures to read her whereabouts should they be close. The symbol on it matched the one on the flyers and bulletins that were put out in her name. If she remembered correctly- anyone who possessed these runes were hired specifically from her father. Whoever laced those creatures with it was after the bounty that she had in the world in the living.

She felt the worried stare of Diarmuid but kept her attention on Loki, trying to read his questioning demeanor. What would he do with this information? Would Loki go after the one in charge of the Familiars? How would he figure out who sent them, though? She did not know any one of this world besides Diarmuid that knew of her bounty. Now the count was at three. Loki, her friend, and whoever was in charge of these monsters.

Loki held her gaze for a moment then chuckled, the one corner of his mouth lifting in a knowing grin. She was unsure of what to make of it. This man had spells wrapped around him making him very impossible to read. 

If only he would eliminate the person behind the attack. Something told her he was uninterested in stopping them. He stroked the length of his silver hair and tilted his head,

"Interesting. I had come to the Arena to adjust some spells to make it more suitable for the next match ups, and to my surprise I saw this. I wonder what I should do with a fugitive and a Forsaken that have partook in a senseless battle?"

Haley flinched. Ouch. She was right to assume he was not going to step in against the person responsible for this. He was more interested in what was directly before him. Her lip rolled under her teeth. She looked to Diarmuid who kept his head low, but she could read the worry in the twitch of his eyebrows. 

If Loki did anything to him, it would be because of whoever was after her. She felt the skin under her teeth crack. She leaned over, her hair spilling over to mimic Diarmuid. She needed to be in this God's good graces somehow. She did not want Diarmuid's fight to end because of her damn history.

"I am deeply sorry. I really didn't know that they had followed me, even all the way down here." she deepened her bow, "Punish me however you'd like, but please," she gestured to the loyal Knight next to her, "Do not take out your frustrations on him. He did nothing but run while I used my ability to keep those things at bay." 

She lied. He had tumbled with them at least once. Would he catch on? She felt herself cowering at his feet. Loki's laugh was nothing short but mischievous. Haley's hairs pricked. Something was amiss. She could not get a proper read on his intentions at all. It was a mixture of menace, lies, deceit, truth, it was just full of inconsistency that had her in sensory overload.

"I will spare your Forsaken this time,  _ However _ ," He bent over, the smell of liquor warming Haley's face His sly grin revealing malicious intent that she could read almost perfectly, as if he was  _ letting _ her read it, "Do remember what you said here. You will not know when, but I will hold you to those words." He disappeared, leaving his laughter trailing behind him as she shivered.

Diarmuid did not like that exchange. What was that devilish God planning to do to his Master? He forced himself to remain silent, as the man clearly did not wish to hear him speak. He could not defend her actions. She was not fighting, just helping him escape, but she had taken the blame upon herself entirely for his safety. 

That... was admirable but foolish. There was no need to unnecessarily put herself in danger like that. He would accept his fate, whether it were to have him stripped of his soul before this tournament, during, or if they would win. But he could not easily go along with anything happening to her for the sake of it. 

He would not allow it, and must scold her for the dangerous things she had been doing since coming here. He approached her very still body. She had not corrected her position, still fear stricken.

"It is alright, he has left.." He extended his hand to her, that she shakily took in her own to steady herself. "How are you fairing?"

Her voice was barely audible, "Yeah, I.. I don’t know..." 

"My lady, if I may, we need to talk." Diarmuid said, placing a hand on her quivering shoulder. Her crystal eyes found his and she nodded,

"Yeah, yeah we do."


	16. An Understanding

Her heart ached as they sat on the sofa in complete silence. He had not spoken to her on their way back. Was he sorting out whatever it was he wanted to say? She could only imagine how upset he must be. Her bounty created such a mess that maybe he was rethinking his involvement with her. Whether it be with her, the person after her, or both did not matter. She was responsible for yet  _ again _ endangering him. 

Why was her location irrelevant to outrunning her father? Between his heavy pursuit, the lies he spooned people about her, the distance she had to put between herself and others, It was all too much. She had concluded she was well beyond his bindings until this matter and it threatens the one friend she had the effort to make.

Catching Loki's damn attention to their predicament added a predator level of fear where they were the prey. How and  _ when _ was that God going to punish her? In the Arena, maybe? Damn it all.

Diarmuid contemplated heavily on how he was to approach this conversation. He had been entirely preoccupied in thought, absent to the reality around him while they had meandered back. In what way of explanation could he approach to not offend her honor, that he would accept what happens to him so long she was safe? He deemed it almost erroneous, somehow. She was endangering herself, for she too has something to gain. Their little endeavor proof. 

Not once, but twice, did those creatures fetch for her in the underworld. How baffling the scenario that someone had come so far to fulfill that bounty on her head. The reward must be quite grand, which was even more displeasing. 

Her own flesh and blood driving others to go so far... should he really be against however she keeps them both in the tournament? The combative outlines made their situation all too peculiar and confusing. It was relieving she was the first to break their awkward reticence.

"I'm sorry... I really didn't know those familiars were after us for the bounty. I just assumed they were the underworld's creatures trying to stop us from reaching here."

Sighing outwardly, he concluded that was not what he was concerned about. He was more angered by the bounty itself rather than the repercussions of it. Her quick quip, asking why he was so upset was off putting. Did she really not see how troubling it was that she puts herself in so much danger? Even after he had mentioned it before that while he appreciated her efforts, he wished she would lie low? 

Well, the actual conversation they had relatively close was on the balcony. It was rather short, and only in regards to how she spoke to superiors. He didn't delve in depth his concerns. "My Lady, it is that you burden yourself heavily that troubles me so. I am  _ your _ knight, to which I have sworn to protect you. I am to be your sword and your shield, but you continue to be mine instead. I cannot so easily accept that."

Haley resisted the urge to roll her eyes completely to the back of her head. His Knighthood being responsible for the amiss feeling he swam in was misguided. It was humbling that he cared to be her line of defense, but frustrating that meant relying on him completely. She was not a damsel in distress by any means—but to allow him to be the courtly man that he is—would require taking steps back that wouldn’t help their dilemma.

What else is there to do? This entire tournament depended on them working together. If it were the Grail War, she could understand why he would be so frustrated if this were how she acted. Unlike that prospect, this Arena purposely throws her into the pool of sharks. Every challenge they faced required her heavy support, and if she had not said what she did to Loki? After it was her damn fault that whole ordeal happened?

"You.. you would just be gone, Diarmuid. For no damn reason, besides my stupid failures. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.."

Diarmuid nodded his head. It actually stung that she blamed herself. What happened earlier was not her fault. She had not willed their relentless pursuit. But he understood. She wanted his success, but those familiars giving chase almost resulted in the opposite. 

Her admittance that she would do any means possible to allow that to come to fruition was venerable. How she favored him so much was still foreign to him being that it was not from the magical spell under his eye. Even so, that reward that she gravely needed was just as important as he. She keeps speaking of himself, but she need also to keep herself a top priority for her own private goals as well.

"While it is much appreciated... my fate shall be the same. You must take better care, as you have things you wish to do and can still find options should you survive past this."

She really did not like it when he was right. She wanted him to just accept the fact that she would do anything possible to ensure his safety, even if it meant damaging herself. He was calling her out on her recklessness with unarguable facts. She still had a life outside this Underworld that had the slightest chance of redemption. Letting herself take the fall wouldn’t help Diarmuid in the slightest. 

Regardless how else should she have handled that precise earlier scuffle? In that situation, it made sense to bargain with the sly god before them. The ends met the means, because he easily could have harmed them. Was there a better approach? Maybe, but the damn pressure she was under from that man alone was enough to make others gravel at his feet. It was all she could do to keep her composure. 

If only those things weren't after her. Then it wouldn't be so difficult to abide by Diarmuid’s wishes. What were they even going to do about that? This all seemed so very hopeless.

Diarmuid wondered the same. Those Familiars posed a problem in the fair of things, even worse if they appeared in their matches of sorts... If they attacked them again, surely they would be out of chances. Loki seemed uninterested in even going after who sought her. He seemed entertained by it, actually. That made matters even worse. 

Were they to just stay in the Hotel, then? Avoid exploring the Arena unless called so they could bypass any unnecessary confrontation until they either figured out who exactly it was controlling the beasts? Maybe her hunter was participating in the Arena and would get offed somewhere along the ride.

He watched his Master grip her knees, subsequently pulling them under her chin. She muttered something about being a prisoner in her own quarters once again and he flinched like he'd been slapped. He knew what that felt like. He curled his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his side, not knowing what else he could do.

"I am sorry, my Lady. I know it is difficult. At least this time, you will not be alone. I will protect you with everything that I am."

Haley stretched a single arm around his waist. She needed that, and to know he was still on her side despite it all. How anyone could follow her even into the depths of the underworld was beyond herself. She and Diarmuid would have to figure out who had her precious information. 

She was glad he would help her do so, but was just sick of all the running. Done with Diarmuid being collateral damage from her affairs. If he was going to stand by her through this, she had to give him the details he was missing so he could fully understand what he was helping her with. She clenched her eyelids shut. Not a single person supported her knowing these details. 

Would he be the same? She desperately begged the God's that not to be the case. But with the way he detested his love spot for entrancing women against his will.. How would he consider an ability far worse and intentional?

"Diarmuid... with you saying that... I should tell you what it is exactly my father is after, so that way... you can make a more informed decision unlike last time, about helping me."

Diarmuid rose a single eyebrow, curious to what she had meant. The way her grip tightened around him led him to believe it was serious.

"Of course."

Cerulean eyes pleaded with him through her lashes, and he had not known why. He swallowed, unsure of what to do when she looked at him like that. It was as if someone had his heart in hand with a grip ready to shatter it like glass.

"Please- don't hate me."

He brought a knuckle to her cheek to stroke the corner of her light cheek. He could never. Unless whatever she said was so terrible- he would follow her to the end of his tournament and be the Knight he promised her he would be.

She leaned into his touch and caressed his hand so lovingly with her own his heart fluttered like a gracious butterfly. Should he.. hold her hand? He stifled his trepidation, and intertwined his fingers with hers. He examined her expression for any hint of aversion. Only her lip caught under upper teeth. It was a simple action he realized she did when unsure of something. He almost released her hand when her fingers curled over his and settled into her lap.

Appreciating his additional care, she began with the day she escaped. The day her father stripped her of her clothes, and went on about how fine a woman she had become. Diarmuid knew what that meant, and tensed. He truly hoped he did not- 

She shook her head and his muscles relaxed. He mangled her body, and miraculously healed every wound. Leaving no trace of his torture. But to escalate once more... in something she could never get back, no matter how many times she healed…coupled with how he said he would make her his in every meaning of the word. That she would be his weapon in the Grail wars, and in and out of his private quarters. Her resolve burned through her then.

Haley recounted how she stared deep into his eyes, when he hovered over her, touching her in places a father should never. She willed him to stop, to back away, and stand still before it escalated. She was met with mild surprise when he obeyed. 

Her father protested, while she frantically grabbed her clothes and dressed. She scurried to his face again, and glared. He would not chase after her. He would allow her to leave, and never come to her again. 

Her father grit his teeth, and his arm twitched, trying to fight her hold on his mind. She told him to stay still, and the movement ceased. She rummaged through her room for essentials and left. She ran, and he had not followed and she knew what she had just done.

She needed confirmation that it truly worked as she imagined it did. She found a random stranger, and while they greeted her, she said nothing, but whispered from her mind into theirs. Jumping jacks for thirty seconds. The person immediately began the exorcise.

Mind control. She could manipulate people's thoughts, and force them to do her bidding. She had practiced silently with herself. Every time she found herself glimpsing back in the mirror. She worked it. 

During his mangling of her body, she left tidbits here and there, and saw it to be working. She was able to manipulate things around her physically, why not mentally as well? It was a combination of magic and mental strengthening, knowing the ins and outs of a person's brain. 

Her father could never follow her again. She was relieved. Though he found his way around it. In her wording, he himself was not able to follow- but that did not mean others could not. 

The rest she is assuming, but, she figured he then went to the Magus Association and bargained with them for the bounty. He spread lies that she was a witch, who controlled people to meet her own ends, and the one passerby helped amplify that when they confirmed- televised- that she had made them do jumping jacks in the middle of the road..

Her life was over, then. People were fueled by the illusion that she was a witch, bent on using her abilities to control and manipulate people. Something she would  _ never _ do. The idea of taking away a person's free will would be detrimental to the kind of person she wanted to be. 

She only used that ability twice. Once on her father to let her flee, and the other to confirm her suspicions that it was mind control and not her telekinesis that aided her. She vowed to never do that to someone again, even if it meant her life. Her father took away all of her freedom, she refused to imprison someone just the same. Especially so severely. 

All she could do after that was work on her magic. To further her goals of helping others, she took on curse healing, and eventually made her way into illusions craft to mask her identity.

"You must... be frightened that I have done something to you.." She dropped his hand and cupped her face in a tremble. With how he first mistrusted her, she was sure she just confirmed his suspicions that she was devious. How could someone be trusted if they can manipulate your mind?

Diarmuid enclosed her wrists between his fingers and gently pulled her hands from her face. He thought no such thing. He knew firsthand what it felt like to have her in his head, and aside from that one time he allowed it- never did he feel like he was being manipulated. Not in that way, anyhow. 

He was always leery of whatever ability she hid, and now he understood. He admitted if he knew of it earlier, he would be cautious, but after witnessing first hand the kind of person she was and trying to be- he would not allow it to be a burden to him. She did promise to never use it, and once again, their link left no sign of deceit. 

He was just filled with that remorse and fear she felt. Her eyes told him just the same. They filled, glossy waves covering the tides of blue he adored. He grasped her, then, knowing not else what to do, and pulled her into him.

Haley wrapped her arms around his back, welcoming his sudden squeeze. Not one person ever accepted her like this. Her father's words that no one would ever trust her, licked her memory. People would fear her control of their body rang in her head and she desperately wanted to drown it out. She believed him- she was dangerous. Every day she went through the physical abuse and how she overcame it convinced her of that. 

To then be free of his grasp, to be seen as a witch.. to hear the rumors about her through the people surrounding her. To know it were true, people thought she was evil and controlling. They were all so wrong, but no one would give her the chance. Her reputation was tarnished. She would always be alone, and believed to be treacherous. 

But to have someone who knew the extent of her power- to the fullest and not be alarmed.. to still  _ believe _ her... It was a miracle. He was a miracle she thought not possible unless... unless a greater power did something about it.

"How... how could you be so.. understanding? I didn't think anyone...  _ anyone _ would so readily welcome me after knowing what.. I was capable of.."

"Even though I wavered a bit- I eventually allowed us to get acquainted." Diarmuid rested his chin at the top of her head. He wanted her to know he meant every word. He stroked the back of her hair, the soft locks slipping through his fingers, "Your gifts are a part of you, but do not make you who are. From what I've gathered, between our pact that links our souls, to how you care for me, how could I not?"

Haley didn't know what to do. When had anyone ever treated her like this? Never. The only touch she ever knew was... reckless and endangering. Rough and nasty. But this... Had she ever felt safe in someone's arms...ever...? 

Diarmuid at one point would not even get remotely close, a simple tap being enough for him to close himself off. To retreat. What was this world doing to them? She almost chuckled. Either way, she was certain she did not want to let go. She could listen to the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat for hours. Be lulled by the gentle sound of air in his lungs. 

It did not matter that he was cool to the touch, or that he was... well, not truly living. She tugged him tighter at the thought. Fake or not, his spirit was real, and he was this gentle person she was slowly coming to adore. The first person she  _ chose _ to let in. She practically groaned when he pulled back, leaving what felt like a gaping hole between them.

Her being so close for so long pulled at a very dead part of himself. It was not fair to her. She deserved much better than the cold, yearning man before her. He had just wanted her to see what he did. To believe he would accept her just as she accepted him. 

Their hold brought about desire, something he feared he could not control if he let it go on much longer. He worried his body craved to be... whole again. Her realness left him feeling empty, and it was not an acceptable feeling. Diarmuid tucked a stray strand of hair over her shoulder, as she used the back of her hand to wipe away the wetness on her flushed cheeks.

"Thank you. You really dont know.. how much all of this means to me."

He could relate. His own fear was that the magical love spot would refuse him any true significant relationship with a woman, whether it be platonic or more. He was gifted with the luxury of being proven wrong on that prospect. If only it were the same for her.

He was just glad he could reassure her it was all to be alright. However, why not just use that ability to make others forget her existence instead of battle in the tournament? In Haley’s defense. With all her honesty, she was unsure of who knew of her exactly with her face being all over the world. 

Even then, she didn't know she would even ask them to do it. It brought back that uneasy feeling of taking people's choices away... she debated just removing the bounty, but her reputation was already ruined thanks to it. It was hard to choose in between. To start over, by using the God's to take a piece of people's memories away, or remove the bounty and start over, hoping people could look past it? Both seemed very unlikely.

"It's why I am more dedicated to you than anything. I'm still iffy on what I would do for myself," she sucked in a breath, as her chest bobbed, "but for you, it couldn't be anymore clear that I want to save you. Because just like me, you deserve so much better."

She giggled, her shoulders shaking, as he rested his forehead on hers. He pressed his eyes close, and pulled her left hand from her lap into his right. His face was inches from hers. So close that the warmth of every breath he took brought heat to her face. That damn strand of hair tickling her nose. 

Her voice caught in her throat. She leaned her head into his, her heart racing. She was sure if her heart had not been protected by her chest it would break out. She refused to read his intent. She only wanted to value how she felt purely in this moment, even if she did not understand it. 

His thumb began fondly tracing her knuckles, as she slowly closed her eyes. Her lips curling up at the corners of her tear stained cheeks.

Diarmuid could not fathom what he was doing. This was so dangerous. He just retracted himself from her, to be ever so close yet again. He could not help himself. Not after she openly admitted her dedication to him so beautifully yet again. She valued his fate more than her own. Weighed her pact with him above all else. 

What he felt.. Could it really just be the craving of the dead? He wished it not, for it would be too cruel. He was not desiring this to fix himself, or to be whole again. He was just... expressing his appreciation for the woman before him. For all she was sacrificing for him. She had to know how much he valued her above all else as well.

"My Lady Haley... I know I have mentioned this before... but you truly are wonderful. I am so grateful that fate has given me the honor to have you by my side."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't get over how much I enjoy how well these two bounce off each other. What do you guys think? It's so hard writing Diarmuid with a woman who appreciates him, as the only one he ever experience that with was Saber. And just saying, we all know how that went. lol  
> 


	17. Curses, Dreams, and Bonds

The sound of her name exiting Diarmuid’s lips sent a wave of scrumptious delight through Haley. It sounded so right in that gentle, soft tone he had. When did he ever refer to her just by name? He frequently fell back on, "My Lady" or "Master" hell, sometimes "Detainer" slipped and that felt awkward. She never thought about how lovely it would be for him to just acknowledge her, as well, herself. Not some lord he was to serve, or a Master to protect. Would it ever be him addressing her as such? Just... Haley? 

And his lips... they were in such proximity of hers…

A delicious chill swept down her neck. Man, Haley was enjoying this more than she should. She leaned back into the armrest of the sofa, not breaking their hands apart. She took appreciation for their rough undertone that reflected his endeavors in life while the top were still soft and dreamy. But what about their slight clamminess? Or was that just her own seeping into his skin? It was rather warm in the room.

Just as Diarmuid thought he should break the closeness between them, his Master pulled away, leaving him high and dry. Whatever spell had taken hold of them broke and he was jarred back to reality. All the heat he felt taken away with a wave of guilt. He had initiated the brief contact and she had ended it. 

Had she sought after what he contemplated? They remained locked together with touch alone, and he marveled with how perfectly her velvety hands sunk into his. The direction this acceptance for her troubles trailed down a path that was not as he anticipated. His stomach was tying into knots, and the landslide buried him when she parted.

The Irishman caught the way the little Lady’s side bangs inched over her eyelashes, as her head tilted to study the skin she caressed his hands, "I think... the term is.. the honor is mine?" She broke her stare from their hands and met his gaze, "Sir Diarmuid."

The way the spear man's eyes lit up made her heart thunder madly. The smile that found his lips was so mesmerizing. She found herself drawn to it- like waves being guided by the moon. Was this the power of the lovespot? She absentmindedly grazed his fingers with her free hand, and his eyes targeted the motion. 

Haley worked a cleansing on her mind, and felt no magical pull or resistance. No way was that it. There was nothing drawing her to him besides the raw emotion laced in his handsome features. He was blissful for hearing those words, just as she was raptured from well, everything he said tonight.

Diarmuid brought the back of her hand to his face and brushed it against his lips. Chivalry barely suited the woman, though it was admirable how hard she tried. It was enough to mend the broken feeling that came with it. A simple thanks for addressing him properly smoothly transferred into Diarmuid felt comfortable with however she spoke to him. 

He placed her hand gently onto her lap and slipped off the couch. His smile was threatening to stretch off his face, and he wanted desperately to find... anything else to focus on besides those glorious crystal blue eyes. That somehow managed to still remain so very clear, despite a subtle thought that maybe, _maybe_ his spot had found its way through her defenses. Thankfully, their gleam remained valiant, and defiant against that damned enchantment spell.

Haley sighed with relief. She had no idea what was going on just a few moments ago, but rolled with it. That was all very strange. The conversation almost turned into something entirely different than planned. What was she going to do, anyway? She rolled her temple with her thumb. 

No, she would not even cross that bridge, even in thought. She just appreciated his kindness. That was _all_. There was nothing more to it than that. He was just being the courtly gentleman that he was. Man, the ways of chivalry was something she did not think she would ever understand.

\----------------------

_I don't quite get it, have we not dealt with this already?_

In their boredom, Haley suggested they take another shot at his curse. Though, Diarmuid was really frustrating this attempt. Haley had been booted from his conscience twice, because he failed to understand that sometimes, events will replay even if he had seen them already. 

If he was still envisioning his past with Fionn and Grainne, then there were still unresolved conflicts to remedy there. She had thought she explained this decently enough, but it seemed his will was resisting hard on this particular thought. 

_Focus, Diarmuid. It's different, even if it's slight. You just have to figure out where._ The curse healer’s scolding voice was booming in his head, bouncing off the reluctant inner walls. Diarmuid mentally sighed. He worked through the imagery again. 

Fionn's triumphant smile as his life drifted from his fatal wounds. Grainne smacking her lips on his is, bestowing the geis and forcing them to flee. What was so significant about these specific moments? Why could they not move on from them? 

He concentrated on what they tackled the first time she delved into this. He was... to forgive himself for his past mistakes, finally pardoning himself for the outcome of those transgressions. Hadn't he already done that...? His mind ached. It became tense and the visions twisted. Fionn's voice repeated angrily-

_Unforgivable! Sorry excuse for a Knight! Traitor, Diarmuid!_

_Why? Lord Fionn- it was a mistake I had made by following the geas, rather than your loyalty. She had placed that taboo upon me. I had fallen to the boar, just as you wanted for my transgression. I had paid my price... so why.. Why do you still continue to insult me so?_

Diarmuid began to feel hopeless in his mental capacity. His failures from his second life began displaying before him now, reminding him of his shortcomings. 

The wreck his Servant self became when he had found his Master lying in his own pool of blood from which the bullet severed his magical circuits. Why had he gone and infiltrated the castle without him? Why did Kayneth distrust his ability so much he felt the need to go in alone? 

Then there was that feeling of sickness when he arrived to find Mistress Sola-Ui's splattered blood from his insolence. If only he allowed her to accompany him. While yes it was a bloodbath at the Mion River, at least he would be there if anyone attacked her. He truly was a blunder of Knight, just as his Master slandered him.

Kayneth's face descended, the flashes of his treachery to Fionn replaying behind him. His blue eyes shimmered with anger, as his arms spread. He berated him yet again. _Diarmuid was a monster granted existence as a ghost to be used as his tool to win the Grail War._

He was an useless Servant. Just like in the legend, he encouraged his betrothed to fight beside him, so he could steal her away. He had hid his true intentions. 

There was no glory, nor chivalry. No code of honor to follow. He could not even protect a single woman, and even his own Lord. The insults refused to end. _Stupid, a fool, an idiot_... He would accept the slights from his Lords, to repent for his failures.

_Do you really have to blindly go along with what they say about you, though?_

He met her question with silence. The memories replaying through his intelligence berating him. He did not think to care. Sure, being insulted daily was insufferable. It had even damaged his pride. Pushed him to think so lowly of himself. But had they been wrong? No, they were correct in their assumptions. The vivid displays of his past were proof enough of that, weren't they? So he had just accepted it as part of his punishment to atone for his actions.

_That's silly. You shouldn't take constant abuse for your mistakes. I think learning from those accidents and doing better is enough, no?_

It very well might be. He had suffered for the choices he made. Had died for them. In both his lives, he met great misfortune for his blunders. He only wanted to do the right thing by his Lords and his chivalry code. He accepted the mistreatment because he believed he earned it, and could not question it. 

Kayneth was right in some aspects, but was very wrong in others. He understood now why his true life was displayed once again. It was not because he did not overcome that part of his despair, but rather that he let it dictate what he accepted. He never considered himself, because he believed he had to submit his superior, even if they continued to disgrace him.

Diarmuid felt such discomfort. He was not always like this. He used to be confident, and noble. He was a valiant warrior, who had slain over 3,000 men by himself, to save a woman he loved. He was proud, and fought alongside the Fianna in great battle. He was once content, even if he had done deeds he wished to forget. 

When had he lost that? He was more than blind, he was lost. He gave away his entire self worth over his oversights. He refused to do that so long he could. He thought this was about furthering his forgiveness but he was wrong. It was only a section of it. How could he follow through with forgiveness if he could not realize his own worth along the way?

His eyelids fluttered open and he heaved. Once he regained his mental stability, his attention focused on the weightless feeling in his chest. Of course the heaviness of his curse was wrapped around the self doubt and ridicule he so readily accepted to be loyal. If only he had acknowledged it sooner how unhealthy and detrimental that was to his pride. 

Diarmuid leaned over to thank his wonderful Master for her flawless execution of curse healing. He would not accomplish such feats without her prodding and magic. His eyes softened, as he saw how wasted she was laying there, sinking into the mattress. This type of spell really did demand so much of her mana and concentration.

Haley moaned, as the back of her hand clacked against her forehead. His first few rejections took their toll. She couldn't bring herself to even peek at her comrade next to her. Her stomach felt upside down. She was worried the food she wolfed down before entering his mind would make a second appearance. 

With a hum, Haley rolled over on to her right side, patting the space to find Diarmuid's soft skin. She gripped what felt like his wrist and pulled his arm over her, "Don't feel good... Need sleep.. you.. good?"

Diarmuid slid her closer to himself, so his arm would not be so outstretched to cradle her. She needn't worry, he felt brilliant. She should rest as long as need be to replenish herself. He would be there when she awoke and they could speak then, or do as she liked. She had given most of her day to him, it was his turn to indulge her in whatever she sought to do. 

A relentless smile crossed the exquisite lady’s lips. Diarmuid noticed the squeeze she had of the sheets and then lost herself in sleep. He knew from experience she was going to be under for some time. Even himself was beginning to crash from the lack of mana being infused within him. Unsure of what to do, he willed himself to do the same.

\---------------------------------------------

The room was padded with white walls. It was small, and empty. A box of some sort with just enough room to take a few steps forward, back and to the sides. The floor was lined with nicked tiles. A lanky, naked, teenage girl whose dull, icy blue eyes, stood facing the back of the wall. She was not alone. 

A tall, bulky man behind her, covered in spell bound armor that engulfed even his own head. His voice filled the room. It stated flatly she was to stand once he was finished. 

Blood splattered across the enclosure, decorating the once clean walls with a dark shade of crimson. A bellow of pain broke out, as more liquid gushed. A single limb severed from her body, dropping into a puddle of red with a splat. 

The girl’s perpetrator raised the chopping knife, that thick blade turning from a silver coat to spotted in red. It broke through more bone with a slick crunch and landed another arm cut neatly at the elbow into another pool of blood. The shrill scream vibrating along the walls.

The man angled the butchering knife and swiped at the crease in her legs, knocking her onto her knees. A chopped leg flayed to the side. Her cries filled the room as the blade found the other, bringing the girl onto her face. Her sobs were muffled by her own liquid that she was planted in. 

The order came to stand, or face bleeding to death. There only, minutes, seconds, even. Healing magic will only be rewarded when the goal was accomplished. 

The frail girl whimpered, a pathetic squeak gurgling in a vermillion sea. Armor clanked when he folded his arms raising a foot into her belly. An inhuman croak released, the dying girl rolling over onto her back. She was drenched with sweat and her own blood. 

He spoke firmly, telling her to stand. The young girl in agony cried out it was impossible. She had no limbs, no energy left. The man instructed the same. She was to stand.

Defeated, blank eyes closed, while the painted red face tilted to the soaked abdomen to stare. The room was silent, patiently waiting for the teenageer to either die or follow orders. Whichever came first. 

By some miracle, the broken body adjusted straight. Stiff as a board, and spilling it's contents from the missing pieces, her fragmented frame stood tall and almost gilded forward. The man's stern voice had not faltered. He simply commanded her to move, as magical energy slowed the blood flow that was seeping from the fatal wounds. 

The youngen did the impossible. While convulsing, her body rose off the ground and glided forward an inch, before it collapsed entirely. Posture unreadable, the tormentor grabbed an arm and attached it to the bone, and sent implausible magic to reattach the part. The door behind him swung open, as an aged woman frantically entered with bags of red liquid.

They completed their blood transfusion, and the man poured magic into the girl, forcing her awake. He coldly removed his helmet and locked his blue eyes on her and told her to heal. The girl seemed to be in a daze, until she screeched when the man squeezed the nub of her bandaged off arm. 

The girl's eyes widened, as he unraveled the tourniquet and left her wound open once more. He handed the shaky girl her missing limb and said it once again. _Heal_. 

She was nothing but a tremor, still attempting to regain mental composure after being jolted awake from previous loss of consciousnesses, practically losing the arm given back. There was a knowing look in her features that if she dropped it, she might never see it again. The girl calmed, lining her dangling limb with its other half, and healed.

\-------------------------------------------

Diarmuid's eyes sprang open. They filled, and when he blinked, a tear fell. His forehead began to damn. He rubbed the slickness in disbelief quickly forgotten as he searched for his Master. 

The dead do not dream. Even in his Heroic Spirit form, it was not possible to access any type of imagery aside from.. visions in the form of dreams of their Master's past. 

The sleeping beauty twisted, and turned, clutching her arm until she flattened on her back, her breath heavily rising and falling. Could that have been...? Oh Gods above. How could this woman have endured such torture and still be the bright and engaging person she was? 

The worried Knight laid his palm on her shoulder and gently shook her. Diarmuid could not allow her to be tormented, even if it were just dreams. 

Dreary eyes barely opened only to be caught by the warrior’s apprehensive stare. "Are you.. okay, my Lady?"

Haley brought her index finger to the droplet on his cheek, wiping it away. The room was a blur. She was still deeply diminished of mana. All she understood was that Diarmuid was hovering over her, with tears in his eyes. When she fell asleep- he was uplifted from more of his curse being pulled from his being.

So why was he so deeply distraught right now? Did something happen while she was resting? He shook his head, and gripped the hand that hovered near his cheek,

"You- do not remember?" She shook her head no, she had not a clue what saddened him, "Fret not, we will discuss later. But if you feel you need comfort, I am here."

"Nnhh..? O-okay...?"

Diarmuid took notice she was completely incoherent. She most likely would not even remember this conversation, if it even were one. Her state reminded him of the knights and women who overindulged in fabulous wines and ales, failing to even understand where they were after. 

In his days, he would not even consider indulging anyone for any reason were they so out of it. But that night terror- He had no way to heal those events in the way she mended his own painful memories. All he could do was clutch her firmly, as she nestled closer to him, to reassure her she was safe from those evils. 

He pulled the blankets she kicked from herself and draped them over both of them, as he puffed the pillow underneath his head so he could be upright. She lazily gripped his waist and dragged herself closer into his person, resting her head on his chest, mumbling sweet nothings under her breath.

He knew he would suffer the consequences for this when she awoke, but stroked her back. With his free hand, he fiddled with the strands of chestnut until her flocculent hair collapsed nicely between them, no longer tickling his exposed shoulder in the tank he wore. His heart was on a rampage in his chest, as the warmth of her body brought heat to his own. 

His throat bobbed. He surely hoped this would help console her in her sleep, because if not, he was in for a very uncomfortable situation later. Even if she were angry with him, if she had even a hint of peace in her sleep, he would be satisfied. He willed his eyes closed, and prayed that he had not made a mistake.

Haley yawned, and twitched to sit up, but was restricted by an arm draped over her shoulder. Eyebrows raised, she glanced down at the slowly rising and falling chest beneath her chin. She arched her head up to see she was resting in the crease of Diarmuid's neck. His breath licked her forehead, sending waves of chills down her spine, her hairs standing on ends. 

Her friend was so strikingly beautiful, resting so soundly. She brushed that strand of hair from his face then furrowed her eyebrows together. _Wait a minute._

Questions racked up from these interesting few seconds. _How did- When did- why did?_ This was so very strange. If he were anyone else, their face would meet the back of her hand. She let out a breath, and gently unlined his fingers from her so she could slide off the other side of the bed. She needed water, her throat was so dry, and she was so very confused.

Haley picked up the leftover water in the bottle that was on the floor at the end of the bed. Uncurling the cap, she took a swig as she heard Diarmuid rustling in the sheets and turned to meet his gaze. Man did she have a list of things she wanted to ask him. 

Awkwardly, the man in bed gripped the back of his neck, clearly unsure of how to explain how she ended up on top of him. Haley hoped he had an explanation, because she sure as hell didn't. She had never been that intimately close to a man before. So of course waking up in such a position was questionable. His retelling of events though, had her leaning on the wall for support.

The rest of the water was gulped down. She needed to feel the wash down her stale throat. Diarmuid witnessed that nightmare she had? In full detail, no less? And he offered to console her however she wanted, and naturally she just wanted to be held.. A mana depleted, drunken ask for a hold, and he agreed out of worry for her.

She could not count how many times she wanted to take him in her own arms when he recalled his own memories in those vile visions from the curse. So of course he'd want to do the same. She did not exactly remember waking and asking for it, but the nightmare itself was graphically arresting her mind even now. 

An exasperated sigh filled the room: maybe this was a good thing. It was not like there was any ill intent, anyway. She did not need her ability to be able to read; he was being genuine and was extremely concerned about how she felt about the matter, even if she technically climbed onto him. It was more upsetting that he had to see such a thing.

"I'm sorry you had to witness that. It was one of the many ways he..." She shook her head, he already knew, there was no use in explaining the obvious. There was no need to recall that time, anymore. It was one of his most gruesome methods of torture. "Anyway.. I appreciate you letting me cuddle you. It might've helped," she chuckled, as she gripped her arm. 

Man, this was different. The more she thought about how he let her on him.. the more she wanted to attempt it again. That was an entirely different matter. So she fixed her attention on a different subject, "So. Your uh.. left eye is back to normal."

Imminent relief coddled that worry that anger would be geared towards him for overstepping boundaries. Although Diarmuid did want confirmation she fared well after recalling such horrifying events, but didn't pry. He completely understood how touchy that subject was, and refused to discuss it further if it made her as uncomfortable as it did himself. He wished to never experience that again, and it had not even happened to him. He could only imagine how detrimental it was for her. 

That monster she would call father was a demented man. He showed no emotion, not a lick of remorse for putting her through such horrors. The damn tools in the Arena felt like mere toys in comparison. He grit his teeth, she mentioned his eyes. Yes, a change of topic was nice. A good idea.

Diarmuid slipped out of the bed to stray to the bathroom and peered into the glass to see his reflection. His eyes were far from normal, but she was correct in her assessment of his left eye. There were no more traces of bloodshot red, and even his pupil had returned to its original state. His honey brown eyes even seemed to glow. 

Delight mingled with the semi cursed man again. It never crossed his mind his original features were to return when appearing in the underworld the same way he left the Grail War. At the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Haley leaning at the edge of the door with satisfaction. This was her handy work- after all. That smile she wore brought his own lips up at the corners.

Haley looked out the balcony doors. It was still night in the Arena, and she was wide awake. Diarmuid did say they could do whatever she wanted, so she thought for a second what to do. She definitely wanted a shower to test out those essentials she had bought before the curse work. After that, though? Taking another evening stroll felt tainted after the mess they were put in at the Dome. 

Star gazing on the roof.. That sounded like a simple but adequate endeavor. It was empty once before, so hopefully it would be vacant once more. Diarmuid of course did not object, his demeanor slightly returning after that unexpected awakening. He seemed quite buoyant at the idea. So the roof it was, then, after she booted him out of the bathroom with a flick to his belly, so she could steal the shower.

It was surprising when Diarmuid took to the tub after. Haley did not think the souls needed things like a bath. He chuckled, stating it was a luxury that he deeply missed. She smirked, her mind casually drifting to a picture of Diarmuid in a bubble bath, with the happiest gleam on his face surrounded by steam and felt a hitch in her throat. 

Alright, her imagination was getting the better of her, as she waited for him to finish. Her attention caught on the steam that exited the bathroom. Diarmuid snapped it shut behind him, neatly tidied up in a basic blue t-shirt, and puffy black pants and outmatching brown boots.

Diarmuid waved her over with this... newly found confidence about him. In earlier experiences, he seemed a bit more dulled down. Now the Celtic legend seemed rejuvenated so graciously gesturing their departure to the roof.

The elevator of course did not reach the top, it halted on the final floor and they had to climb the emergency stairs. Thankfully, the Hotel’s covering was empty, besides a pair at the far far end of the tower. 

The stars spread far, decorating the navy blue sky in their twinkling light. The moon was far off, full and descending as it watched over the Arena. The waft of air gently swayed Haley’s down hair, carrying her scent of vanilla mixing with Diarmuid's spring fragrance.

Diarmuid crossed his arms behind his skull and laid back into the concrete. Back in his Fianna times, the open sky that hovered over him during their hunting trips was often his choice for joy. The smells of pine, laced with the damp moss nurturing his senses.

This scene before him might not be perfect, but it was enough. He peered over his shoulder at the lady next to him whose index finger traced the sky. She kept a single eye shut, while her tongue poked the corner of her mouth. Her expression did weird things to his insides, and he tried to get a grip on his sudden uncontrollable emotions. It was just blatant curiosity, that was all.

"My lady, What are you doing?"

She barely angled her head to roll her eyes into his direction, "Drawing."

Haley saw the question marks in the abyss of those heterochromia eyes and chuckled. She extended her arm and with her fingertips, guided his left hand from the wrist away from his head. She gently curled all of his fingers down besides the index finger. 

Guiding his point, pausing toward her star of choice, she slowly used his hand to create a shape in the sea of twinkling lights. She waited patiently, as his eyebrows furrowed together. Minuscule creases laminating his forehead. She almost laughed, she could see the steam leaking from his head as he tried to figure out the pattern she attempted to make.

"A.. fish..?"

Yes! Lush lips kicked up at the corners, and oh how Haley adored that smile of his. She hummed, thinking of another simple shape to make. Face lit up with another idea, she conducted another shape in the galaxy above them. It was a slower work this time to add in more details. She made sure to linger on important parts that would outline the formation.

Azure eyes watched golden ones trace the path of Diarmuid’s index finger, entirely focused on the image it was creating. She waited patiently for him to guess, not knowing what to expect.

"Cat...?"

He slanted his head, curious eyes looking to her for the answer. Haley practically bounced with joy. Yes! Either she was a fantastic finger artist, or he really knew doodle shapes. Either or was quite ridiculous, but she was enjoying this. Haley’s pulse kicked up a notch. What else could she think of? 

She rolled her lip under her teeth and tried again. This time, she would be slightly more complicated. She wanted to challenge his knowledge on the forms of more convoluted patterns. Though she would choose something he would recognize if he paid enough attention. Something from his timeline, and had recently traveled on. 

She contours the stars again, and dipped her face towards his that lingered with interest in the intricate pattern she created.

"Mmm... You were elaborate on this one," His lips pursed into a firm line as he purred with a glint in his eye, "Would you allow a hint?" 

Her grin sharpened like a blade, "You fought fearlessly on this in the Arena."

Diarmuid’s fingers flexed through the hairline of his neck. He reworked the pattern she made and thought back to the few times they were actually in the Arena. He had not really fought anyone on the Obstacle Course, and the chamber with... those tools was anything but.. Ah, he understood. The strange triangles, and the straight line gave it away and he had missed it. 

What she created was a ship. She nodded in approval.

Deciding he would have at it, the merry warrior switched whom gripped whom, and imitated the tactic as best he could to derive his creation in the stars. Haley brought a finger to her lips, deep in thought. enamored when she guessed 'dog' correctly. 

_A Greyhound_ he thought respectively. Like the one he cherished back in life.

He were to try again, and thus they continued for well over an hour. Attempting to puzzle her and she him with the strange designs they created. In each enticing minute, he felt himself inching closer.

Against his better judgement, he wanted her to claim his shoulder for support rather than the hard cement underneath them. It didn't make sense.

"Hmm... that.. was a bird?"

"Indeed. You are quite good at this, Master."

Haley blinked her eyelids shut and shook her head with a low giggle. She didn't think being good at it was the right way to put it. His doodles were fairly simple, and easy to follow. A bird was befitting his limitations. It also fit his spirit.

She knew that before his curse, before the stupid Grail War, and his geas', he was this free man, who loved his brethren and country. He traveled all over Ireland, and fought gracious battles. Served his Lord to his heart's content, and was admired by many.

How she wished to have anything of the sort. To have people by her side, to experience the world as he did. She brought Diarmuid's hand to her chest, her fingers dancing with his, tracing over the callouses on the rough parts of his palm.. She kept her gaze focused on the galaxy above,

"Hey Diarmuid...? What is it like... to be free...?"

That was a strange question. Free from what, exactly? He tilted his head in her direction, seeing her staring listlessly into the night. She had this look of detachment that he could not quite place. A somber glint in her eye, and a longing for something out of reach. _Ah, so that was what she meant._

"It is as glorious as the stars above us. As grand and wide as the sky expands. To be free is to have utmost happiness, in every sense of the word."

She clasped his hand in hers tightly. As glorious as the stars above.. to have happiness in every sense of the word... She did her best to keep her eyes open, to keep the heat in her cheeks and not let the tears escape.

She wanted that, so desperately. To know more than just barriers and illusions. Being with her Knight was the only taste she felt close to such a thing. "Do you think... I will ever be free?"

Diarmuid turned on his side, and met her hazy gaze, careful to not pull himself from her grasp. His right hand's finger tips traced over the command seal on her left hand. He had forgotten that it was even there. Even when met with possible death by his own hand, something he regretted above all else, she had not thought to betray him. She only shielded him from his pain, and worked with him to the best of her ability.

Why did someone so gracious have to suffer such turmoil? He wished he had magic as powerful as that seal to give her the freedom she so desired. There was not an evil bone in her body, no hint of vengeance, just deep longing for a chance to experience life.

He wanted so badly to swear he could guarantee she would find the freedom she was worthy of, but knew that to be difficult to promise. As pleading those eyes were- he knew only truth would satisfy that question.

"I- do not know," Her lip rolled into her mouth, and his tongue trailed his bottom lip in response, "But I swear on my honor, if you will allow it, I will help you accomplish that goal to no end in any way that I can."

A light sparkled in her eyes, which she wore far better than the dullness before. A smile spread across her features, as she relaxed into the pavement.

It was ironic. Here she was, talking about gaining freedom, something she never had, and yet he himself was desperately trying to regain the freedom he had lost. They were two souls searching for their own ends that could easily tie together like a thread.

Haley knew he was right, and while that pained her, she was glad he was by her side. That even if she were never to escape her bounty, the moments she shared with him like this were more than satisfactory. She could not have asked for a better partner in all this, and wouldn't dream of this being any different.

Her smile deepened, and she guided his finger once more across the sky. He adjusted himself onto his back, and missed the part of the portrait she made in the stars.

"What was it, my Lady?"

"Something strong, but gentle-" She hovered closer, and laid her cheek in the crease of his neck and shoulder. He welcomed her sweet aroma, and denied any fight to her closeness. "Like you..." He tipped his head in her direction,

"Oh? Tell me.. I am curious."

She formed a bear. As spirit animals, they were referred to as strong and courageous. Known for standing up against adversity, just like him and his nobility as a Knight.

They were protective, but also considered gentle animals. In some stories, they are told to even be healers on a physical, emotional or even spiritual level, and she could not deny he has helped her on some degree with those things. It was only natural she could see him as something as powerful and valiant such as a bear.

Of course there was all the term, "bear hug" that strategically, she decided to leave out. She was not sure admitting now she loved how she felt in his embrace was warranted.

A grateful smile formed on his lips. The way she had compared him to such a powerful creature made his heart thump faster. He rather liked her analogy. It suited him well for as her Knight, he would be her strength in this unsettling place, just as she has been his.

When she had first approached him- never did he imagine this would be the result. Initially he would not allow her to be so dangerously close, or anyone for that matter. He had not intended to live up to her expectations of his character, or want to protect her, either.

Now, it was all he could do, because even if this tournament were to end in their loss- so long as she made it out okay, he would be alright. If they won- even better. But for now, he would relish in their bonding, because it was times like these in this hellish tournament, that he valued most.


	18. Observers

Haley felt a wash of drowsiness overtake her. The sigh followed only clarified that she did more sleep, and it disappointed her beyond repair. She was having too much fun with her Knight to end their night early.

Keeping at her fumbling of Diarmuid’s large hand, she angled her wrist to peek at the wristwatch. It flickered the time of 212 hours. Eyelids sagging, the thought of what that meant twisted the innards. 

Two more days, and the closer growing pair would be thrust back into the Arena with stakes at a medium in the upcoming round. No matter the Opponent of their next duel, their lives were protected. If the outcome were loss: A punishment game only ensued thereafter.

It never clarified how close in proximity these matches were to be, and rest was uncertain. Surely it would not immediately after, for they would be too injured to partake in any subsequent challenging bits.

Haley’s chest became strangled in skepticism. It was too risky to believe the Tournament would give fairness, and downright stupid to think them safe. Not with her bounty hunter, Loki's punishment lingering, and the next trial, of course.

Feeling his Master’s playful prodding end, Diarmuid retracted his hand from her sweet custody with a light smile. He turned on his bisection to attend to the Lady. Those eyes were heavy so it was best to suggest they return to their quarters.

Diarmuid’s suggestion was met with melancholy breaths from his stargazing partner. He shared her disappointment, as he too had not wanted to end their outing early: but her rest was necessary to their survival. And the lady always got so little of it. Best to take advantage of it now, while they had the chance. 

He offered her his arm to bring her to her feet. Her head was heavy from exhaustion leaning into his bicep for support. Their venture to the room involved chatter of their next moves, and once reaching their destination, Haley dramatically collapsed onto the bed.

It was decided that later, they would attempt to train again. The inexperienced fighter’s growing curiosity in weaponry could prove useful.. Diarmuid could only imagine how dangerous Miss Haley would be with a spear or a sword coupled with her enhancement magic. An idea he would contemplate while she slept. The pressing matter was how to accomplish any of this.

He stepped out onto the terrace, not really interested in replenishing any magic in forced slumber. The navy of the sky was beginning to lighten to a soft blue, the moon hiding away behind the dome to make room for the sun that was threatening to take its place. The rays of sunlight broke over the dome in the distance, a strip of orange and reds molding together. 

The God's painted a beautiful replica of the sun rise and he thought to ask his Master to join him next time should she enjoy it. 

It was gorgeous, like the clear feeling in his chest. Losing more of that curse really helped him feel lighter.

He rested his narrow chin on the back of his hands, as the wind warmed his cheeks. If only freeing him of his curse was enough to release himself from this pity hole of death. While he attempted to accept whatever his fate were to be, if he were free from the tournament- free from the gates of Hell, the gentle woman would be, too. She would not have to worry about getting stronger for his sake. 

But then there were the matter of her bounty. That had to take some sort of priority. There had to be a way to identify the Master of the familiars. They were detrimental to their success. Coupling that damn with Loki on their tail? This accumulates variables that threaten them from victory. Diarmuid worried that if they did not rectify these issues soon: Failure was imminent, and he was tired, oh so tired, of failing.

\---------------------------------------

It was a makeshift weapon, but it would do, she guessed. She held out the curtain rod and poked Diarmuid in the bulk of his chest. The corner of his lip jolted upright. He gripped the tip, and yanked her forward, causing an embarrassing yelp. The edge of his finger grazed her collar bone, "That would be your heart."

She scoffed and jerked the rod back but his knee raised and while his other hand dropped the rod entirely. Just as quickly, the skilled Knight had her wrist coaxed between his index finger and thumb. He brought her down inches before his raised leg, "And that your guts."

Diarmuid dropped her hand and jerked his head to the door. Haley's eyebrow rose, and she eyed the rod that he dismissively waved off. Using a curtain rod was useless to enact realism, and he had an idea.  They had nothing to lose from it, however dangerously stupid it might be.

\-------------------------------------

Haley let out a lively groan to emphasize disbelief. This _was his plan?_

He embarrassed the hell out of her in the room, sure, and she needed some real weaponry to assimilate the events of the battlefield. Though, in no way would the Observer’s allow them to use their weapons, and  _ definitely _ not join them. 

Diarmuid shrugged his shoulders with nonchalance. There was risk involved, but so long they remained submissive they'd probably just usher them off. This was their final day to venture around the Arena, and the only place they were not allowed to scope was the Sacred Market. So might as well make it worthwhile should they say yes. 

His Master heaved emphatically. Well, it was his funeral. Eh, maybe that was an insensitive joke.

The Observer bellowed a hardy laugh. Rather than him spearing the spearman.. Haley decided that was a win. Diarmuid didn't seem bothered, he only seemed to gain more conviction. 

He pressed them at every angle. Firstly, they were allowed to venture the entire Arena. Why not the training grounds? Were they afraid to be beaten by a Forsaken and their puny Detainer? Who was a woman, no less? 

She shot daggers at him at the remark. Damn times he is from and their sexist views on women. He would pay for that statement. If they were scared, gladly they would stay far away from them and train among themselves. They were to fight the  _ Hosts, _ surely they would understand why preparation like this was essential.

The Observers called his bluff. Oh, they knew and saw what the woman could do. They were privileged to the screens as well, and had ears for the whispers that easily traveled. They admired their brevity, but it was foolish. There were no battles outside the Arena and they'd be damned if they allowed them the privilege of learning their way around the warriors of the Underworld. 

It wants to school the little girl? Not here. They better shoo along before they decreed them a threat. The little blessing of the Gods would only take them so far. They were not obligated to withhold their agreements if they were to cause issues.

"We will let you join on one condition," A single, iron clad man, ax in hand, pushed through the pair that guarded the entrance to the grounds. His ax swung in circles around his wrist from a string, "I'd like a rematch with the witch."

Haley was unsure of all this. One, she was not a damn witch. Two, as needed her sharpening was- was this really their only good option? She side glances Diarmuid, whose wrists were cuffed against her persistent objections he would not interfere. Safety precaution, they stated. Ugh. 

Telepathically he assured he was fine, but was worried she would struggle or get hurt hours before their next duel. The worried gent insisted she stop putting herself in harm's way, despite this being  _ his _ idea. 

Heley reconciled she just had to remember what they had practiced on the rooftop as the Ax man, - Thardon - tossed her a scheming smile. So she agreed to his seemingly easy terms.

Internally musing, Haley easily could have gone decades without seeing his face again. Not after he practically killed them before Merlin stepped in their first day here. Of course he still held a grudge, heck she did, too. He had not even given Diarmuid a chance to explain- just was ready to send him to hell, no exceptions. 

She supposed he was only doing his job, then, but now it was personal, and now she was full strength unlike before. Her goal was simple from what he explained. So this should work out... right?

Wrong. These Observer's were on their own level of damn near impossible. The angelic warriors were no joke. She had not gotten a second to budge. His movements that came for her were nearly unreadable. 

Haley bared had the time to suck in her breath, as the air broke at her left. Thardon caught her hand swiftly, cutting off her mental maneuver. Impossible strength flipped the frail woman over the warrior’s shoulder. 

Anticipating the blow of the hilt that aimed for her chest- she mentally slapped the man's face into the dirt and tousled to free the weapon from his grip. The man slipped from underneath her in a flash she was not suspecting and pressed his body atop hers to jam his thumbs against her temples. She let out a screech and attempted to fling him off her but his pressure increased and she tasted dirt.

"Your parlor tricks are something," he practically snarled in her ear, "It's greatly unfortunate such a beautiful gift is bestowed upon an accomplice to a Forsaken."

His sneering was intolerable, the ringing in her head unbearable- the bastard was attacking the neurons in her brain with whatever magic he possessed. A headache is not even the word to describe the immeasurable struggle it was to ignore the splitting in her brain. 

Eyes open barely a pinch, she split the dirt apart from underneath them and they sunk. His hands released from the jerk, and the relief was immediate. She sprung out of the hole to meet the foot that roundhouse kicked her back into the acreage. 

She halted her sliding in the patches of unhitched grass to meet the warrior gripping the ax she stopped within inches of her face. The air around it shifted, and the glimmer of annoyance struck Thardon's features as she attempted to pry the weapon from his fingertips.

He snarled as he broke apart the wave of energy that she was engulfing around him. Heavy steps parting her control. She clutched the corner of her head, feeling the pressure against her psyche, bending from the cringe. Her quivering hand pushed him back, but she was at a stalemate unless she could figure something out. 

Diarmuid's voice then echoed in her thoughts, as if to answer her silent query;  _ Master, you'll be unable to subdue him much longer. Focus on your task, instead of striking him. _

How did he suppose she would do that? He should know how difficult it is to ignore his attacks. She had to deflect them, or he would injure her making the goal he set forth impossible. She had to bypass him, and the only way to do that was-

"Oh."

She was then aware of the mistakes she was making. Her eyes darted to the gate determined to no longer engage, but sprint even if he came at her from every angle. Pressing her eyes shut, she flung the man in the opposite direction and mentally enhanced herself to bolt. 

A whistling sound whizzed, and she knew he was already on her heels. Nothing she could do was enough to outmaneuver his divine speed, or strength. She kept her eyes locked on the fence. 

She brought the earth up behind her to separate herself from him. His ax easily halved the dirt. The heaving of ground was only a temporary shield. She just needed it to create an opening to chuck the man, and use that same force to push them apart with all her mental might.

Her back slapped into the prongs and as the Thardon closed the gap between them, she met the Observer's aggravated stare with a crooked smile, "I made it."

Thardon's lip twitched, "You did."

Diarmuid exhaled, and the chains shackling him dispersed relieving the tension in his wrists. He thumbed the irritated area, thinking of how less and less those serene chains burned. He saw the Thardon character pop the gate, signalling him over with a wave. 

He was thankful they kept up with their part of the negotiation so he and Haley joined them in the training field. He felt the surge of mana flow through him, and his Master practically jumped for joy feeling her magical circuits work again at full capacity unlike prior. Thardon only allowed a slight shift in the magical blockage to her in their little skirmish.

An oddly dressed woman tossed Diarmuid a spear, and he spun it around his person with ease. He gave the woman an appreciative nod while she flipped the edge of the dress that only covered her front with a wink. He averted his gaze from the flesh she revealed on her back end immediately in a fluster.

Haley gagged on air, was his lovespot so strong it even charmed an Observer? Impossible, if she could cycle it down with mere magic... 

That same woman slid the sword she held in her steeled arm across the blades of grass to Haley. With her thoughts interrupted, she lifted the weapon to inspect it. She fiddled with it, awkwardly swinging the sleek blade and shaking her head while she heaved. She debated if it was smart to give her an object like this with no knowledge on how to use it and Diarmuid's chuckle made her heave again.

That woman Observer waltzed over. She pulled another sword from its sheath at her hip with a clang against Diarmuid's spear. Haley shot her back in reflex, and instantly regretted it. 

The lady, introducing herself as "Trista" shifted so quickly in front of herself she barely had the second to register the length of Diarmuid's weapon blocking the woman from striking her. This quick exchange had Trista taking an amused step back,

"Heh, I like yall's spirit." A quirky smile lifted her green lips. Their reflexes when one or the other was in danger was superb. Interesting, they adamantly protected each other even outside the Arena. If it weren't for what the soul was before her, she'd actually think it was cute.

Diarmuid raised a single brow, "Did you wish to challenge us?"

Haley's eyes darted between the two, attempting to understand what was about to happen. Weren't she and Diarmuid here to help  _ her _ get better with weaponry rather than partake in useless duels against the keepers of the lobby before the Underworld? The first was necessary to gain access, this on the other hand...

"Challenge? Ick, yer thinkin' there'd be one?" Her laugh was indifferent, "I was just testin' ya. See what yall would do." She leaned on her thick leg and wagged a scolding finger at Diarmuid, "Yer a stickler for women, ya know that? It's aggravatin' hearin' and controllin' all them ladies in the crowd that drool over ya," Her sword flipped so fast in her hands that Diarmuid barely registered the jab in the chest with the handle, "But I reckon yer not interested?" Yeah, he seemed to have his concentration elsewhere...

Haley's jaw dropped with Diarmuid's hiccup from the surprising blow. She was still trying to process the fact that she was purposely trying to allure Diarmuid. Or entice him to get a reaction, anyway. 

Funny thing was, it was working on her more so than him. He seemed rather uninterested aside from the begging glance to heal the pain she was thought throttled in the chest he clutched. She sighed outwardly. Best not to indulge her in her semantics. There was zero hostility coming from her, anyway. She was teasing them. 

Haley patted Diarmuid's chest and eased the ache. She leaned down and picked up the sword after, "It's not his fault, you know. Anyway," she looked to Diarmuid who gripped the back of his neck, "Thanks for bringing us the weapons, but we have to train so..."

Trista's eyes narrowed, "How did ya do that?"

Haley twitched. That sudden change in demeanor- "Do what?"

It was impossible. Really. She infiltrated their space again, palming the belly of the Detainer at least a mile away. Her wail caught some consideration, especially since she crashed into some weaponry. 

No worries. They had Healers far and wide in these grounds if she was injured. There was no use having the girl here to interrupt, plus, it was entertaining watching their shock. She caught the sword that spiraled free from the woman's hand and implanted it into the weeds.

Trista stood on her toes, to meet the startled gaze of the Forsaken and swiped her finger down the center of his chest where her hilt jabbed. Amazing. The wound was mended, maybe not completely healed- but solidified for sure. 

Outrageous, she definitely hit the Forsaken hard enough to crack a rib or two, and leave an imprint. But little traces were left of any sign it took a hit. Funny, only the Divine healers should be able to touch anything inflicted by Observers, even to this degree.

Diarmuid barely had time to register his Master being tossed and the Observer's stroking of his chest. It was all too quick. He shifted to go after her, to make sure she was alright but the woman halted him with a simple tap of her finger. 

She winked again, and the tension with every breath he took was tangible. She wagged her finger with an, "ah, ah, ah," and his eyebrows furrowed together. All they were to do was train with the permission Thardon had given them. He was to aid his Master in gaining more skill. This was not the intended result. He was not entirely sure exactly what she was so interested about. Her attention was on his chest, was it the healing?

"Has my Mas-Detainor's healing caught your eye?"

Trista smirked, now it was getting it. Having an ally that can aid in healing these types of wounds was unheard of. There were reasons for it being nearly impossible. Forsaken were the broken and evil souls in the Underworld. This little Lobby needed Divinity like herself to keep them in line before their permanent descents. If it were easy to heal their blows; they could rise above them.

So the fact a mere human had the capability was honestly captivating. She thought about injuring it some more- see what else the Detainer could fix, though, she also figured that would be cruel to do to the poor thing.  _ Decisions, decisions _ ...

Diarmuid got the drift, but held on to his usual calm approach to such matters. He aimed to keep hidden that he was fairly nervous of the significance of the healing.. Fate liked to find ways to up heave any foundation he thought he once had. He thought her healing to be wonderful. 

Though this Observer easily reminded him that she was the second highest authority in this realm, just beneath the Gods themselves. Him having someone who could undue, however slight, their damage could be considered minacious. The way she was fixated on the subject had him suspect the worst outcome and swallowed,

"Will... you strip my soul because of this..?"

Trista laughed. Right. This was a Forsaken she was battering. Of course it'd fear for itself. She forgot where they were, and technically has been assaulting them with her curiosity. It was no crime to be a good healer. Somewhat, anyhow. 

She was more fascinated than worried. It had been a long time since she was  _ surprised _ after all. It might be risky, but she was willing to forget about it. Definitely wouldn't send it to Hell over it. It should give her more credit. She was more lenient than  _ that _ .

"Oh no no no. Relax. Yer good. Yer good. I was never gonna do that to ya. Or plannin to. I'm just aggressive with information. Yall the first I've seen with such luck so naturally I was gonna scope it out."

Diarmuid's stiffness loosened, and he felt even more comfort when his Master leaped back and dug her eyes deep into his shattered demeanor. He assumed too quickly what Trista was after. 

He understood her bewilderment. His hand found the back of his head where he had first been impaled by an Observer's weapon. A gash unhealable by general Magi, but she had taken care of it. The scar was barely there, now. 

He had only wished that the reason he figured she was so talented in the healing arts was not because of her father's mannerisms of strengthening.

"Indeed, my Lady is truly gifted. Though, she cannot heal them completely. It is more so.. relief."

What were those two going on about? Haley was so sick of unexpected turns. She was bored of being thrown around, and tossing others just the same. It was all frustrating. She just wanted to gain some skills. Why was that so difficult? 

At least this inadvertently gave them information that she was useful as a healer. Thinking back, she wondered if the same rules applied in the Arena. When Diarmuid performed in the obstacle course, he received injuries that while they didn't heal completely- they were soothed and somewhat taken care of. This was an advantage they could utilize.

"Alright, I think I caused yall enough trouble. So, yer wantin' to train, right? Let me help. Make up fer scarin' yer Forsaken and wastin' yer time. I know it's precious considerin'..." Trista side eyed Diarmuid, "Yer stakes and all."

It was a proposal he could not quite get behind, not entirely. He was unsure what  _ else _ she would find worth investigating. Her approach to such matters was borderline terrifying. Not that there was anything more  _ to _ investigate. 

She also did not know Haley's weaknesses and it would be a pain to explain them to her. Though, when he glanced at the lady, of course consideration was splayed in the way she leaned towards the woman, instead. He was sure there were things these fabulous warriors could teach her, but was it worth it?

It was on a couple of conditions, because it would be safer, that Haley accepted her offer to help. Trista would listen to all of her concerns. She would leave Diarmuid alone but listen to his suggestions and allow him to help out where he deemed fit. She figured that was acceptable, and the warrior agreed quite quickly. Trisa even brought along a couple of friends —under Thardon's watchful eye— to help out. 

Her lip was being nestled by her teeth, but Haley was actually happy they were helping. For what reason she didn't really get it, but hey. They were being  _ nice _ and she could not complain about that. When was the last time they were even remotely approachable until now?

Diarmuid was pleasantly surprised. The training fields were allowed to be used to the full extent with their company of the Observers. With his interjections and their brilliant insight, his Master seemed to be learning well. With so many different weapons and styles at their full arsenal, it even granted himself a nice refresher. 

His main objective was her but it was impossible to not enjoy the pleasantries himself. Oh how he missed his personal spears and swords, but these were fine replacements. He alluded his concentration to the hand that palmed his shoulder,

"Ey, Forsaken, why not leave the girl to Trista? They're doin good. Spar with me instead."

He couldn't. The task at hand was his Master's training, and they had all agreed himself tussling with Observers was unacceptable. He carefully declined, while also sending another tip for his Master to adjust her stance with the sword by turning her ankle. It gave her a better hold. 

Haley did as he suggested, but leaned back on her heels and acknowledged his challenger. She hummed, with a thoughtful glint in her eye. Could she tell he was itching to partake? It was dangerous, though. He needn't be considered a threat-

"Don't worry, even we have codes we uphold. We let you in, so I won't send you anywhere but into the mud." The Observer was getting antsy. He expected a Forsaken to jump at a chance to have a scuffle. What soul of the Underworld wouldn't give in the chance to strike back against their persecutors?

Diarmuid asked Haley if she would mind if he would entertain him. It was herself who stated Observers stay clear of him, but here they were, compelling him to engage. 

What good was that anyhow? Was there some sort of purpose in asking him to duel with them? She surveyed the Observers surrounding them. All dressed in steel, accompanied with varying styles and wavering interest. The man before them had only a chest plate and armor protecting his shins. He seemed a confident fellow.

Knowing her Knight, Haley was confident he wanted to take him on. If he thought fighting Cu was an honor, she could only guess what this meant. She would just clarify, this match won't make this Observer hassle Diarmuid on defending himself. 

He would let him spar as he pleases, and there was someone who could heal him if he sustains any bad injuries? They were to fight one of the panel members tomorrow, and the rules stated any wounds outside the Arena won't be dealt with until after they partake in whatever round is next, injury or no. 

The man dipped his head and flailed his hand in confirmation. 

"And no matter what... you won't send him to-"

"I get no joy stripping souls that aren't causing trouble. This is merely to see what it has got. It's not like it can beat an Observer going all in, anyway. So?"

Diarmuid smirked, asking to be given another spear that a separate Observer tossed to him with a chuckle. They spread, whispering among one another while his Master patted his back and wished him to have fun. 

The Observers were mocking him, but were not aware of what he was truly capable of. This was superb, to fight the second highest Authority in the realm, without a worry of being punished. He had no chance of winning, but to have the honor to show them his skill? To test how long he could last against such adversaries? This was glorious, no matter the result.

"I, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, accept your challenge,"

"Hm, and I, Ozzard Apanathy, will give you a fair fight to the best of my abilities."

They approached one another with enough testosterone to water the fields and tapped the edge of their spears together. Diarmuid smiled with confidence strong enough to bend the will of any oppinent,

"En garde.”


	19. High Spirits

Just before Diarmuid let the challenge slip through his lips, gold eyes detailed the man before him. Curly dark locks crept down the narrow, thick chin. That breast plate was hid a brawny body behind it. Only the lower half of his legs had protection while the rest of the stalky figure was laid bear in a tight shirt and slacks.

The dual wielder’s left spear swiped for Ozzard’sbear feet. With speed Diarmuid was counting on, Ozzard soared over the underhanded strike. Spears cross over each other to shield the expecting warrior from the Observer's incoming strike. Using the authoritative figure’s own force to wedge him back: a jab with his right was made just forthe opponent to easily twirl away.

Not letting the momentum slide, Ozzard shot straight for the Forsaken. Their weapons clash, erupting in a frenzy of golden spikes from their competing blows. With no opening left available for the soul, he revved up power like an engine. After deflecting the two spears in a single upward jerk, he parried their mark almost disarming him in the process.

Ozzard's foot targeted the groin, but the damn dual wielder's left spear kicked up dirt between them. Avoiding the incoming smack from the right spear, a stocky body curled into a roll.

 _Alright, the Forsaken_ _i_ _s quick._ Thoughts completely interrupted by the lance crashing down from above, the soldier blocked the overhead strike. Gritting teeth under the force quickly crooked into a cocky smile.

Observer’s had ability to dampen their power levels and this particular one figured it was best to avoid victory being handed to him. Loosening those limitations, the Underworld warrior caught the second spear's blade in hand. Taking advantage of the shocked pause: In a single motion, Ozzard hammered his body into the Forsaken, knocking it off balance with a loud _POP_!

To hell Diarmuid would release his weapons; He barely winced when his shoulder dislocated and used the Observer's own yank to collide them both together. His free spear leveled at the man’s creamy neck. He thought that to be victory, but Ozzard's feat kicked his thighs with enough force swore his muscles split, and a bone ruptured.

The unsuspecting jab bent the Forsaken forward enough for Ozzard's elbow to meet his chin. His spear sliced a line into its abdominal muscles he was sure were on fire,

"Don't count your opponent down until they surrender, Forsaken."

"If- If I were going for the kill, that easily would have been your head rolling, Observer."

An audience began to gather. While clutching that awful crease in his gut, the lump in his throat jerked. Did.. his previous action bring forth unrest? No, focusing on their chatter—instead of the muscles in his legs pleading with him to sit— he gained confidence they were watching their fight with great interest.

"But we are dueling until one or the other gives, so ready your weapons, unless you are finished?" Ozzard provoked, clearly enthused by their sparring thus far.

Diarmuid released a breath and adjusted his stance for battle. "I don't believe I'd have this grand opportunity again... so I would be honored to continue against an opponent such as yourself."

"Then get ready to go again, Forsaken," Ozzard looked among his companions watching, "Someone; throw me another spear."

Diarmuid chuckled with a sway of his head in disbelief. Alright, this formidable foe just became unbeatable. With the flame in his belly only growing, he assessed his next action. Try as he may, he was sure what the outcome would be— which only fueled his passion for battle hotter.

The next assault flung for his battered leg, for spearing it in the heart would end the poor soul. The dodge that followed was a mark of brilliance. How it could move so cleanly even after having a smile carved into its gut Ozzard would never comprehend.

After sinking into grass: the Observer disappeared faster than the Forsaken could even attempt to bring his two spears against his own. Metal against metal scraped time and time again, neither warrior letting up in their ferocity. The untrained eye would only see a dazzling show of sparks.

In the trade of blows, a quicker under swipe caught the Forsaken in the torso opening its sleeveless shirt form the side.Unfazed, it used Ozzard’s retraction as an opportunity to knock his spear lose. To be unarmed! If only that were enough.

Even with a single weapon in hand, it was easy for the Observer to use his weapon’s length to absorb the duel wielders following moves. A wind of prana releases more of Ozzard’s restrictions, allowing the man to pounce in reverse.

The warrior’s movements were barely visible. Diarmuid went defensive, the moment he assessed his disadvantage and the strength being emitted from the man. An array of scattered strikes were blocked purely out of instinct. He waited for any chance at an opening, but found few to none.

Each round of blurs parried the other, and in the raven haired man’s tiresome keep up, another thrust landed clean through his mangled shoulder. Every inch of the Irishman straining under the Observer’s invasion.

"What's the matter, can't break through? This your limit? Come on, show me more, you gotta have more!" He couldn't believe the fun he was having! With no constraints: pressure was probably building on the poor soul. Still, he egged it on further. He wanted to push its fragile body past its boundaries.

Beads of sweat formed at every angle, just like the continued force of steal clanging against his own. He couldn't let this be the extent of it all. Diarmuid blocked the strikes and jumped as far back he could go. Distance was his friend, even if the Observer easily closed it.

His chase after him created the only window of opportunity he could see. He shoved with his left while his right swung from over head. Two spears collided with a single block which the Knight expected, while he rode the distance the weapons created forward , knocking their skulls against each other.

That sudden daze was enough for Diarmuid to wallop his foot at ankles, forcing Ozzard to avoid his quick swing by arching back.That bending had his opponent drop his spear to finish off with a flip.

The weapon that lay freely in the ground was snatched in the quicker man’s hands just before the two spears plunged into him. Like a pouncing tiger, Ozzard was on top of Diarmuid in seconds. He refused to give the Forsaken a chance to catch breath in pure respect for its fighting prowess.

Both handles were gripped so tight Diarmuid’s palms blistered while he blocked the flurry of pummeling above him. He held the man at bay long enough to roll to the right- and get to his feet before getting struck clean through the shoulder blade whilst slashing the second attack back.

He exchanged honoring words and blows with the Observer for some time longer. As hard as he tried to be offensive- it was downright near impossible. The best Diarmuid could do was match his beats with his own, until Ozzard implanted himself into the smile carved into his abdomen.

The collision dropped the Irish Knight and before the next lashing were to come: The palm of his hand spooned the air.

"I yield." It was not wise to receive further damage. If he were to, his Master would remove his soul for them. He was not inclined for that, and laid back into the grass with a hardy grin.

That was exhilarating and oh how each scar of his body ached. During their struggle, his wound were challenging his resolve to engage. Strangely, it was not as bad he imagined it would be.

He spied his Master's knees as she pat his deeply inhaling and exhaling chest from the over exertion, "Damn, Diarmuid! You did freggin incredible!"

Diarmuid fingers his fingers through his wavy hair, "You flatter me, my Lady."

Haley smacked him upside the head, "Just accept the compliment, you goof!"

He had no energy to block her hand, instead, he rubbed the spot and shot her a dissatisfied look. He had thought he accepted her compliment just fine. He glanced up at the smirking figure that offered a hand.

Gladly, Diarmuid accepted the offer, being guided upward into a sitting position as Ozzard’s other hand cradled his back for support.

"I was not expecting you to last that long, or to fight so nobly. You have my respect… _Diarmuid_." He said with conviction. He had expected at any time in their match for it to aim for vitals, or seek his death; but never did it attempt to do such dirty things, even as he barraged him sneaky tactics.

"Your words bring me great honor, I zestfully accept them." To be respected by any of the Observer's was probably worth more than any coin, or sponsor, and the Knight held it. To say this was match was a loss would be insulting. Even despite how inflamed his body felt.

"Is it possible you can heal him...?" Haley asked. She almost started the process herself, seeing how badly he was mangled. The attention her skill brought previously halted her actions. Leaving it to their Healers probably would avoid bringing them any additional attention.

Her companion had already caught enough holding his own against an Observer for so long. Most of it was positive feedback, thankfully, but she really didn't want to risk it.

"Hah, of course. Hey, Lerick, bring our best Healers for the fellow!" Ozzard barked at his friend. He should of promptly brought them over the moment the Forsaken had yielded. He’d earned that much.

Diarmuid was glad these warriors were true to their word. He never engaged them outside the Arena, knowing full well what they were capable of doing. They rarely showed any interest in the souls, unless their duty required them to involve themselves. Maybe this was opportunity for both of them. The result was wondrous, as he was glad to have faced one of them in honorable combat.

Haley intently examined how the healer sealed his wounds. Why was she not able to mimic them? It did not seem any different from what she knew. There was also the matter of how deep those wounds were. It was unnatural, that a simple cut from the their blade would dig so deep.

"Hey Diarmuid, why are the wounds inflicted by Observer's worse than typical ones?"

His hands ran his fingers through the sharp blades of grass to feel the cool sensation under his hands. It was because, technically, he was an evil spirit.

His Master’s expression sagged along with her shoulders at his reply. The Observer's held Divinity, and any weapon they held was enchanted upon their grasp. Even though he was showing restraint, it was impossible to negate those effects. So naturally, it was only the divine that could heal such wounds in their entirety.

"You're... not an evil spirit..though.." Haley said, bummed that he would define himself in that way.

His hand found her slouched shoulders, "Indeed, but my body is still that of the Underworld. So it carries the same burdens."

Ozzard leaned in to their little conversation. Intrigued, he butt in, "Not an evil spirit...?"

Their flinch from his nosy question granted even more interest. Did they forget he was still very much right next to them? Thinking further into it, that name, Diarmuid, it was fairly familiar. He couldn't quite place where it was from.

Now that he put thought into it, there was something fundamentally _different_ about this specific Forsaken. He even noticed in their little skirmish.

Sure, he was powered by the woman's magic, and his body connected to her soul, but something about what they said rung true. Calling this Forsaken an evil spirit seemed... misguided. Maybe a cursed spirit was the better narrative considering that was detectable, even it were... slight.

Haley stroked her cheek, not sure how to respond. Would he believe them? That Diarmuid was just a little lost, and his rage that threw him here was nothing short but unwarranted?

No, it wouldn't be worth mentioning. While she really wanted to have some sort of being in this world view him differently, it would not help them. There was nothing this guy could do, or she didn't think so, anyway. The last thing she wanted to do was lose whatever trust they built here in these few hours to lead them to suspect they were only here to gain favors.

"It's nothing, really. Just how I perceive him."

Ozzard couldn't hold back his smile. He has encountered thousands of Forsaken. Whether they be vengeful, cursed, insane, or demonic, he knew the difference easily, and so did his comrades. There was a truth in her words, and it brought upon interest between himself and the few that gathered to assist them.

Plus, the little connection they shared was genuine, something not quite often found in the Underworld. Investigating turned out to be pleasing. He would not bestow her that information, of course, but would at least humor them,

"That so? Well, you got spirit," he extended his hands once again to the duo who exchanged quick looks between each other before taking them in theirs, "Pun intended."

It was strange, his amiable disposition made Haley want to rethink her entire perspective on Observers. They were usually short, and distant. That didnt feel right, anymore. They weren't just warriors, they were souls, too. She felt almost ashamed for thinking they were absent of well, any kind of emotion.

Even as Diarmuid’s sparring partner departed, he seemed to whistle a warning:

“If you are going to lose tomorrow, make sure you take little damage.”

Haley wanted to know what the heck he meant by that, but he kept his back to them and waved. Her lips pursed in a pout, while Diarmuid shrugged, also unsure.

The rest of the day was spent working with Trista and her comrades to give Haley some proper skill. She learned relatively quickly, and would prove not to be entirely useless should she obtain a weapon in any future objectives.

As even her fellow Observers dispersed, Trista stood by and gave the trainnee some final instruction before seeing Haley and Diarmuid off to the gate from Thardon's push they all part.

In the end, he seemed uninterested in trusting them, but Diarmuid still respected he allowed them to stay as long as he had. It was beneficial, and they were in their debt. Thardon turned his head, almost in disgust, as he parted.

"Don't yall worry bout him. He's just a stickler for order, and isnt too fond of well, yall Forsaken, ha," Trista adjusted the gate and pad locked it with a magic barrier behind her, "Despite how he and some others are, we all aint that bad."

"That will not taint my opinion. Even he has my ever lasting gratitude." Diarmuid bent over his arm with a bow, "I give my thanks for the kindness you've all shown us today."

Haley held out her hand for it to be slapped and shook by the hardy woman,

"Awww, wish I could say yall were welcome here anytime, but today was an exception. After we part, we won't be so friendly." She let the Detainer's hand slip, "Fer what it's worth though, yer not too bad, Fersaken. Try to remain that way."

"I do not plan to falter. I hope to remain in your good graces, despite the circumstances. Be well." He dipped further, appreciating Trista's compliment. A brief smile tugging at his lips.

"Good stuff, Fersaken. Well, good luck in yer tournament. Try to hurry back to the Hotel before yer time expires!" She pat them both on the shoulder, and departed towards the Sacred Market.

\-------------------------------------

The warmth in the air never left- and it was not the atmosphere Haley was thinking about. It was the noticeable joy in every step that Diarmuid took. She kept in line behind him, admiring the beauty in the sparkle in his eyes as he followed the peach colored sky.

 _This was a really good day for him_ , she supposed. Despite the strange approach from Trista, he was respected, even thought in high regard despite what he was considered in the land of the dead. She loved his giddiness, and what it did to his handsome features.

He was different, she realized, from the broken Knight she first came to rescue. He had been shut down, full of rage and mistrust. His movements were always stiff and alert, his words short and strict.

He was looser now, more composed and less calculated. She was always attempting to figure him out, see the kind of person he really was underneath the curse and... he didn't disappoint. He was the kind of person she would like to get to know, if anything he's revealed so far of his personality was his true self.

That brought about a whole new kind of feeling and she felt her heart pick up the pace. What was she thinking? She adverted her eyes to focus to the light pavement, and the leisurely pace she kept to stay at his side. Anything to distract her from the heat burning her cheeks.

Haley prayed he hadn't noticed. That Diarmuid’s mind was too occupied on the compliments the Observer's granted him for his skills. Anything would suffice, besides the flutter of her heartbeat for where her mind was going.

"Is something the matter, my Lady?"

Of course not. Call it a warriors perception—or the damn bond they shared through the link of their souls—but he was too perceptive, "Nope, nuh uh. Just um.. thinking about tomorrow's match and if I'm ready."

"Ah, I see." Diarmuid slanted his eyes with wry smile.

Did he fall for the lie? She spared him a glance, and the way his golden hue locked with her icy blue, coupled with that damning, knowing smile made her stomach curl.

Oh he caught her bluff for sure, but if he was going to call her out on it, he took the gentlemen approach instead and said nothing. She was thankful, because she would not be able to explain exactly what that stammering of her heart even meant. She was just excited that her curse healing was reverting him to his true self. That was a _l_ _l._

Diarmuid was positive there was something else responsible for the sudden rush in her vitals. He recognized that fluster, and her rosy appearance only backed his suspicions, but he would not press for explanation since she so boldly avoided it.

A pang of guilt rubbed him the wrong way, and he too did not want to tackle a conversation about emotions. Not when those sea like eyes remained clear, unlike the other who had led him down a path of treachery.

Despite her obvious objections, Haley found herself inching closer to him. She did not want to end their night based off a lie, that he most likely caught on to, anyway. They built so much trust since... the painful moment her head met a wall, and her neck his hands. She slowed to a stop, and stroked her arm,

"Wait.." He paused and met her with a questioning raise of his eyebrows. "I wasn't think about tomorrow, I... was thinking about you."

 _Ah, there it_ _is_. The Irishman was surprised, but more so impressed she retracted her previous statement so quickly. He admired her honesty even if followed with an awkward pause. His wonder traveled to what exactly filled the lady’s thoughts of him.

His Master went on to explain the differences in his character, and the confidence he seemed to have that he lacked before. He was also more open, and she enjoyed getting to know who he was behind the curse, and what the legends taught her. She was curious if he had noticed the difference himself, which he definitely admitted he has.

Ever since his loathful Grail war, he hadn't been himself. Not entirely. It was as Kayneth had said, pardon the seething behind it. He was a ghost of his past self. Even upon entering this world, destined for the cruelest punishment for his actions; he became vengeful and unforgiving.

None of this were who he was truly. He was a fair and patient man, he thought, following his vows a Knight to eradicate all evil for himself to... fall into the same path. He was grateful for this woman before him who continuously helped him break free from the grasps of the curse and what left over evils filled him from the Grail and his own hatred.

"My Lady, I have you to thank. It... It has been a difficult time for me. Fate has been cruel, and it had clouded my judgment," Yes, it was because of her seeking him out that he was finding any sort of peace.

He closed the gap between them and took her hand delicately in his, "But you have helped eased that pain, and I am truly glad it was you had come to help me.. find myself again."

Okay, if her heart wasn't hammering out of her before, it definitely was now. Haley only wanted to fix her previous fib, to keep them on honest terms. His mannerisms had her melting light a candle, and yet...

She returned his gracious smile. She didn't mind it. She couldn't. She could only shake her head at her useless gawking, and found herself kissing the back of his hand as he did to her.

She lingered there, against his soft, tepid skin. She then met his light stare, before letting his hand drop. She understood the gesture was a sign of respect and maybe a bit of this newly found, unsure feeling.

"And I am glad I could help. But don't forget all the hard work you're putting in. I may be removing your curse, but you are ultimately responsible for who you are."

Diarmuid nodded, indeed he was. He glanced at the back of his hand, subsequently topping the spot where her lips had just been. There was a light, feathery warmth that her lips left that he wanted to retain just a bit longer. A reeling smile formed that refused to part at the curtsy.

Diarmuid followed her stride back to the Hotel, where she would replenish herself, and he would continue to think of their day. It was ironic, he felt. She was enticed by his continuous improvement in stature, but he was even more compelled by her wonderful spirit. The last he remember paying attention to such a thing was with the honorable King of Knights, and well, that had not ended entirely well.

After discussing strategy for their next affair: Diarmuid listened to Haley’s playful chatter with pure interest, while also contemplating the next few hours. She would sleep, and he would observe that watch like a hawk for their call to the Arena.

A call he was desperate, and agonizing over. Eager for an actual fight, and yet worried for the gentle lady in front of him. It was going to be fun and agonizing, but they would prevail. He would make sure of it.

\------------------------------------------

The crowd's roars, and the sounds of explosions, metals clacking, among other various battle sounds made Haley’s skin crawl. In the cold waiting room under the Arena, she with Diarmuid, and the rest of the participants lingered for their names to be called.

Her fingers would not stop pulling at the fabric of her clothes. The repeated thumping of her leg was rattling her body. If only she could see what was going on above them, to know what they were in store for... but no, instead they were to listen to the battles and pray to be victorious.

Diarmuid's hand found her continuous tapping, and she heaved. She needed to remain calm, being nervous was no good, and he assured her they will be alright. The numbers pooled out, and yet there were still no words of who remained victorious. The host, or the Forsaken who were forced to challenge them?

"Detainer Haley, and her Forsaken."

The hairs on Haley’s nape pricked, and Diarmuid lifted her up with him as they strolled to the Observer- "Ozzard...?"

A slight shake of the Observer’s head, they were not to be familiar. The Lady’s chin and eyes immediately dropped, and Diarmuid gripped her hand in his with a reassuring squeeze.

Haley blinked, and then was surrounded by the cheers of the crowd. Her eyes dart around the empty terrain. Aside from the barriers in between them and the bleachers, the Arena this time around was a full stretch of concrete. What really caught her attention, was the panel of creators, sitting on those wretched thrones above them.

Briscella’s gown flowed while she floated in front of them, "Welcome challengers; Detainer Haley and Forsaken Diarmuid! We will keep this short, as there are plenty of others wanting their time to fight,” Her voice boomed, “As you know, this is to be a grand fight between yourselves, and one of our lovely Hosts. To keep things fair, you will choose your playing field which will in turn, decide your opponent."

Haley's wrist went into a spam, and her watch beamed a hologram above them. It displayed 4 different terrains. One was filled with rock, gravel and boulders, the second with fields of grass and trees, the third, waves brushing upon a beach, and the fourth, a desolate desert.

Haley exchanged a glance with Diarmuid who attempted to examine any of the details in the picture before they were rushed to choose quickly.

He decided, since Haley still needed training, for her to be able to hide behind boulders would be helpful, "Terrain one."

The Arena shifted under their feet with a snap of Loki's dainty fingers, the image from the watch flickering out. A quick interchange, and the ground heaved, and the tile turned from concrete to field of dirt and boulder.

Haley fell to her rear, losing Diarmuid's hand—that was still holding her own— from the quakes, and watched the panel's smirks disperse far beyond their little... battlefield.

Diarmuid's fingers flexed, aching for his- They appeared, Gae Buidhe and Gae Dearg into his grip. Around his waist and shoulder, his swords were sheathed, awaiting his pull if need be. He blinked, and then winced in mild surprise when he was fueled with more mana and magic than just from his Master.

"I hope you enjoyed your power boost," Haley and Diarmuid's eyes snap to the warrior, dressed in armor from shoulders down to the feet. He was sitting cross legged at the top of a tall, pointed boulder. He arched his blonde head with a cocky grin on the spear he leaned back on.

Haley swallowed and rose to her feet and twitched when a sword appeared in her hand that she practically dropped. She didn't think she wanted to use this against him. His legends described him as one of the swiftest heroes of Greek Mythology,

"Though, it probably wont be enough to help you."

Haley's throat felt tight, and she took a couple of calming breaths. There was nothing to really prepare her for this. She was not a warrior, like the man who took a cautious step in front of her.

Diarmuid blocked her completely from view, and all she saw was the muscles tensing in his back in that ugly, orange jumpsuit. "What are the terms of the battle, Lord Achilles?"

"Well, at least you get to the point. No formalities needed with me, but the terms are simple." Achilles slid off the rock, and pointed his tri-tipped spear, "We use whatever we got in our arsenal to win. I'm immortal, so your signal of victory is landing a fatal blow." he laughed, "If you can."

Haley's lip split from how hard she was grinding her teeth over it. Never in her life did she ever attempt to make a fatal blow. To anyone. Diarmuid on the other hand...

They devised a plan before this. She would support him best she could. Keep out of sight, while the enemy focused his attack on Diarmuid, and awful she felt for it. Haley gripped her fist, and squeezed that sword's handle.

Diarmuid nodded, his terms were simple enough. He leered over his shoulder at his Master, who clutched that sword like it was her life, "When do we begin?"

Achilles wore a sly smile,

"Right now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing a dual wielding spear fight is difficult. Forgive me if it's a little messy. Technically speaking, the story picks up slightly from here. (Still got a long ways to go. Oh boy) Some twists and turns are coming, though! :D If anyone has stuck around this far, let me know what you think of the story, and what your thoughts are for Haley and Dia's future in this tournament!


	20. Persistence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have broken down the name of Achilles' spear, Diatrekhōn Astēr Lonkhē to just aster.

Diarmuid cursed, _too quick, much too quick_. Whirling dirt obscured details, and the crunch of ribs was loud enough to stifle the scream that threatened to exit his lips. No magical boost would be enough to dodge his God like speed. 

What was worse was the crack of skull against a plentiful of shattering stone that was not his own. It was only his own spears at his side that halted them in their flight. A sword's clang ringing in his ears as it flailed into dirt.

Haley's arm strangled underneath pectoral muscles, while the other massaged the back of her head. Magic of healing swirled and gravel rose above and around them. Shades of red blinded her left eye and that was the least of her troubles. 

The crinkling of stone left little time to think. The barrier of rock blew in every direction with force strong enough to create wind. Still clutching Diarmuid close, their bodies hurtled backwards from her psyche.

His right spear traveled over him to his left, as Diarmuid snatched Haley's sword from the land and slung it for Achilles' ankles. His teeth grit, as the sword was swiftly knocked to the side before it even neared the widely grinning warrior. His feet brought up pebbles and air stung his cheeks as Haley departed his side per his instruction. 

Mentally, the Knight advised his Lady on several plan actions, and where his body needed her healing. Magic flared in his muscles, and dust followed his lunge. Arms rippling from the ring of Gae Dearg colliding with Aster, his wrist snapped where Achilles' hand gripped it. A whistle broke his hold when Gae Buidhe sliced for his midriff.

The warriors broke apart from bursts of rock and stone, each targeting the Greek hero in flurries that were countered away by single swings of fluid motion. Just a slight angling of his body has Gae Dearg sizzling like lightning, cutting his dart for Haley off with clouds of dust. Gae Dearg whizzed back into his palm, whilst magic engulfed his battered wrist. Faint to the ears, he registered cheering somewhere outside the barriers of the Arena.

"Ha! Wonderful, you have made this slightly interesting! But it won't be enough!" Achilles mocked, awaiting their next move.

Her wrist vibrated, and Haley glimpsed the message on the screen splayed across the watch. She blinked once, then twice in disbelief she would get a notification in the middle of a fight. A serpent-like symbol beat. It was a sponsor message,

_Moralltach is a Divine Weapon capable of injuring Achilles._

Fucking hell. Immediately she telepathically relayed the message to Diarmuid.

There was no time to chat, given that information. Diarmuid's body blurred across the turf, Gae Buidhe spinning from his grip in the wind behind him. Moralltach pulled from its holster, he speared the lance in hand and jerked his sword for his ankles. 

Achilles’ leg arched and armor rang against the blade of Moralltach. Aster slid underneath Gae Dearg separating Diarmuid's arms exposing the orange of his chest. A spin of Achilles' waist was enough for an iron clad foot to meet abdominal muscles.

Air caught in his throat- but the opening he created kept the warrior's focus on him, and enough for Achilles to stiffen from a psychic pull. _Enough, it was enough._ Eyebrows furrowed together and a trembling arm showed the Greek warrior’s restraints were limited. Diarmuid wasted no time to swipe his spearhead through the armor that shielded the Greek's ankles. The steel boot clinked, and curled over itself revealing beige flesh. 

Achilles lips pursed accompanied by a whistle, "Troias Tragōidia!"

Mana splurged in a hum accompanied by the entire Arena erupting in a tremor. A chariot pulled by three, different shaded horses, rampaged across the ground kicking up earth. The center, mahogany horse ducked its head underneath the legs of Achilles hurtling up and over into the seats behind it. The horse driven carriage galloped to a slow trot, and halted across the stadium.

His arm was halfway to its mark- and then Diarmuid fought wind as his body flowed swiftly through it, seconds before the monstrous wagon appeared. He leered over his shoulder to his Master, whose arms were outstretched accompanied by quivering hands and a bobbing head. He registered how close he was to being trampled and eyed the hero, whose laughter bounced off the barriers walls.

Haley regained her breath, "A chariot... too...?! Come on!"

Achilles halted his laughter at the woman—Haley's—remark. He did not intend to use it. He really didn't. He expected this match to have been over long ago, when his first strike crushed the bones of the Forsaken, what was his stupid name? Deermud's ribs? She was a healer, with incredible skill to boot if she managed that so quickly.

"Hey, you forced my hand. Be honored! Savages, aiming for the heels. Looks like you took the information from Cu Chulainn and ran with it!"

"It is indeed with honor, that we accept your chariot. We must be quite good, if we have driven you to utilize it." Diarmuid shot a glance to his Master who threw her hands up from his comment in what he assumed, disbelief. He subtly jerked his chin towards the backside of the chariot, that her eyes followed with a raise of her eyebrows. 

His chariot was open in the rear, if he could just keep Achilles talking, hoping he was as smug as the Irish Legend himself stated.

When Achilles attention turned to Diarmuid she crept sideways, to get a better view of the back end of that buggy. Eyelids twitching, her hands hovered at her waist with each delicate step she took, dawdling the silver chariot towards her.

"You're impressive, but good? Come on, I'm being powered down. At full power, you wouldn't stand a chance." Achilles shook his head, bewildered the guy thought such a thing. 

Haley's jaw hung open, "This is considered powered down?!" 

Achilles’ lips curled at the corner. Her shock was amusing. She really thought he was fighting them at full strength? If he were to do that, her friend's body would have a gaping hole where his fist met his ribs. The pair had not the slightest clue how hard that "no kill" order was to uphold. If it were gone, the Greek would have never let the Forsaken escape from the stampede of Pedasos. 

If only Achilles knew that Diarmuid was once a Heroic Spirit like himself. If he were in his true form, he had no doubt the man would retract those words. However, the Irishman would play along with the Epic Hero's insults, diverting his attention with conversation as his Master edged even more near.

"I will say one thing, you're lasting longer than I anticipated. I've faced several of your kind, and none made this far. It's too bad this is the end for you," His head ducked, with a glimmer in his golden eyes, "You really think I didn't notice the woman moving to my posterior?"

_Shit!_

The chariot kicked up surface, shrouding the woman’s vision with rubble. The wave of her hands only parted particles, before Achilles' devilish grin barely registered before her wide, red stained eyes.

"HALEY!" Diarmuid yelled, as the horses' hooves paved the road in their brisk gallop toward him. He planted the blade of Gae Dearg into the gravel and sprung over the beasts in a vault.

Iron filled her throat, and threatened to spill from the spear puncturing her gut, but she swallowed. Haley met Achilles' triumphant gaze with determination and mentally pulled the armor she memorized from his ankles.

The gleam in the warrior’s eyes went out when the metal protecting his ankle peeled back, just as the orange cloth that draped his shoulder straightened. The Forsaken was yanking him back by the damn cloth with Haley's telekinetic assistance.

Diarmuid's muscles flexed as he reeled the weight of the Heroic Spirit over his head with his Master's help. The cloth slipped from his fingers just before the Greek hero spun on his axes and brought Aster down with deadly velocity on to the length of Gae Dearg. 

The wave of energy released from their clash flooding their surroundings. Diarmuid's legs buckled from the sheer force and a nimble spin of Aster underneath his feet. A back-flip saved his stomach from being split open from his swing, and a force of energy deterred Achilles from piercing the center of his chest.

The telekenic’s hand shot forward, slugging Achilles as far from Diarmuid as possible. Haley's forehead hugged dirt from the sharp tugging of her torn skin and innards. She ground her teeth, still healing the internal injuries from the piercing of the spear. 

The bastard punctured her stomach, and she felt the acid burning her organs. This would take time they did not have to heal, even of someone of her ability. She dug her hand into the wound and grimaced, but applied the magic where her organ split to bring the slit back together. Her cough threatening to spill more red into the pavement.

His combatant's golden eyes targeted his Master like an eagle would a mouse, and Diarmuid wished he could reach and get her to safety. Somewhere, _anywhere_ , that would remove her deeply weakened state from Achilles' predatory assault. With great worry she was injured far too greatly, she telepathically assured it were possible to heal, if given the time.

He charged blade raised, to impede Achilles advance. It was all he could offer his companion, hoping his distraction would give her the duration she needed to remedy her wounds.

Achilles spied Haley splayed in the dirt and accelerated towards her. If he applied anything his fight with Chiron taught him - it was to finish of your enemies. He could not kill her - but knocking her out would be easy considering that gouge he made in her center. 

The fact they didn't call it there irked him. While yes, they removed the non healable injuries aspect of his cursed spear, but that wound was practically fatal for a mere human. She must still be capable of something since they are letting their skirmish continue. His smile pursed his lips, she was dangerous, that one... but..

Achilles felt the wind and blocked the onslaught of her teammate. Damn. He was a persistent pest, too. To think either of them were actually putting this type of pressure on him had him laughing with pure amusement.

Diarmuid parried the blow left, and slid inward to make a jab with Moralltach cranking through the armor, splitting the base from the shoulder to the image of the bird at the center. The Irish Knight heaved soon after, as Achilles' knee clicked into his chest. He winced at the sound and force of his ribs breaking. 

Agony exploded in the dual wielder's temple where the following clack of weaponry burst. His body broke boulders after being flung across the field. In pure reflex, he raised his spear over his head, anticipating the landing of Aster across Gae Dearg.

"Damn! Your sword can pierce me, can it?! Guess I got to step up my game!" Achilles pressed his spear harder, the weapons vibrating underneath him, "Man! Who'd think this match would actually be fun? HA!"

"I am glad to be a worthy opponent for you...!" Diarmuid said, through the ferocious onslaught of the spear and grappling from Achilles. 

Weapons dropped from the man in dirt, allowing him to roll left and right to avoid the pummeling ravaging the surface besides himself. The Knight hurled all his strength to the soles of his feet and met the dripping blood from where his sword punctured.

Haley pushed herself from the sulfur and cringed as her hand clutched her gut, healing the last bit of flesh and tissue. Her chest tightened with each incomplete breath she took, and spit the rest of the liquid lodged in her throat beneath her. 

To think she was grateful for withstanding torture for years was so outrageous, but she was. The damn gift to heal wounds that would incapacitate if not downright kill a person was what saved them from losing this. 

Was what Achilles did even freggin allowed?! Or did the damn Host's expect her to heal herself? Her stained eyes darted around the battlefield and she saw it, the damn cameras. Those mother-

The rumble of domain blasted her with remains that she shielded her eyes from with a cross of her arms. Diarmuid hurtled passed her in a strip of breeze. She turned and there the damn Greek warrior was, a green strip of speed aiming for either one of them. 

Seconds, that was all she had as she fixed her energetic pull on the chariot and horses strapped to it. The way she observed Achilles' face whip to the brash thud it made against his own celerity had her accelerating as far from him as possible.

Diarmuid blasted through the wreckage and heaved. This was exhilarating, and however enjoyable it was dueling such a mighty warrior, downright maddening. His movement and spear skills.. they were impeccable. There was no completely breaking through his defenses. Even with his heel exposed- he guarded it masterfully. 

He gripped Moralltach tightly in-between his fingers, and exhaled thinking of his best strategy to win. He eyed the parameters, and the crushing boom as his Master flung his own chariot against him.

Diarmuid was sure she would be reaching her limits, as she found her way across the stretch of ruins. A glimmer caught his attention, eyes widening, and against the crying of the bones in his chest, he darted.

The atmosphere rippled from the lightning speed of the spear as Gae Dearg intercepted it, the collision spiraling Aster away while also ricocheting Diarmuid into Haley. The back of his head reverberated against her forehead when they rolled into the ground. 

Haley groaned and through her squint saw Achilles already reunited with his lance and aiming for their entangled bodies. She shot her hand up and halted him mid strike, the edge of his weapon feet away. She knew this was repetitive, and sure he wouldn't fall for the same trick again, but holding him down if even for a second was invaluable. 

She brought her second hand into view and struggled deeply to pry the damn weapon from his hands. Her head sung vicious melodies that her mentality was crumbling, as she desperately fought Achilles for control.

Regaining his wits Diarmuid rotated off the fragile woman underneath him. Mentally asking for her to repair his shattered bones, he struck the ground with Gae Dearg, hurtling himself to the man trapped in space Moralltach ready to pierce-

Seeing her window of opportunity closing with each resisted push on her hold, Haley refocused her attention to the other heel covered in metal. She twisted the fibers and broke it into pieces, digging the scraps of metal into his heels. Per Diarmuid's request, a wave of magic circled him to take of his injuries. His monstrous leap with his spear then guided him to the warrior.

Just as quickly as this all unfolded, she heard the trampling commence and cursed before flinging Achilles into his own Chariot that took flight into the empty space of the battlefield.

Landing with a thud, Diarmuid scooped Haley into his arms, whilst still clutching his weapons in a single hand, pushed off the ground to avoid the roar of hooves and Achilles' laughter. Between whatever grip his master could handle to slow the massive piece down, he sprung across the pointed edges of brown stones. 

Surveying the miles of wasteland, Diarmuid suggested Haley hurtle whatever she could to stop Achilles pursuit. He had an idea, and banked on the only possibility for victory he had. 

He helped her adjust over his shoulder while rearing left to avoid a full on collision with the carriage behind them. When she settled across his shoulder, she complied with his plan and began slinging the Arena at the Horse drawn sled that was always a heartbeat behind them.

Achilles navigated the psychic’s onslaught with perfection. There was no way a mind mover could keep up with his momentum. He closed in at the tail end of their attempt to escape his pursuit. Valiant effort- the man had agility almost equal to his own, but not enough to avoid his assault, "This is it for you!"

He fell for it, got too close. Haley enhanced Diarmuid's speed to create enough distance for her to raise the entire ground beneath them all up into the thickest, largest cinder block her brain could muster. 

Diarmuid gripped her wrist and twisted his body to change direction, tossing her off his frame as she slung him to the chariot that annihilated the blockade she created with mental force. Her feet frantically tried to find balance but tumbled instead. 

The woman gliding in dirt hands palpated dirt to stop her slide as the chariot blew past her striking her with debris. She turned over and found the back of Achilles, as Diarmuid's fury of attacks grappled with Achilles' own.

The Chariot aggressively rocked on each side trying to fumble Diarmuid, but he launched Gae Dearg across Achilles' lance and chucked Moralltach so it spiraled and sunk into his shoulder. Achilles ripped the sword and flung it off overboard. He instantaneously brought his lance forward in a throw, forcing Diarmuid to step back when it knocked against his own and landed at his feet. 

Achilles sprang and landed a kick backed with force that his entire body crushed under it. He hugged the damn outstretched leg swirling him off the chariot in the opposite direction of his own descent.

He whistled through air and smacked into the clearing dragging dust and rock with him. He turned over and hacked as a spear leveled over him,

"Alright, you got me there. I wasn't expecting that. But now, this really is the end for you." Achilles said in a haggard breath. He was ready to create a wound dire enough- His golden eyes widened and his bewildered gaze dropped along with his jaw.

Haley increased her own furtherance with magic to mirror the advancement of the chariot the best she could. She was within a mile when Diarmuid, followed by Achilles ejected from the sky. Her friend spiraled into the ground, while the other whisked not too far off. 

She bit her lip, and pressed her back against the rough stone behind her, and waited for Achilles to close in for the kill. Just as Diarmuid insisted. She prayed Achilles would not crush him under the chariot instead: but knew that would bring about his death... —or disease function of his body anyway—signalling his end. Which he was not allowed to do, unless he was a prick enough to find some sort of loophole in that.

Just as his mind's eye predicted, Achilles touched down before him, spear angling for his exposed vitals. He was aiming to finish him however the rules allowed, unless Diarmuid was able enough to strike back. Haley's fingers pushed from the boulder and she stepped out from her hiding and with great precision, mentally swung.

The tip of the long, thin, and light sword dented his left ankle. The second, Moralltach, in his right. In their skirmish in the skies, and surveying the battlefield, Diarmuid saw the sword his Master accidentally dropped earlier in their battle when Achilles struck them down. 

Diarmuid traveled the battlefield with her in tow, so while Achilles followed suit, Haley could drag that weapon with them while she pummeled Achilles with rubble. He then made sure she followed when they tussled in the sky to be ready for Moralltach's launch.. To his beautiful calculation, Achilles indeed chucked it over, not believing it needed to defeat him. 

A costly mistake. Had he used it- he might've had a chance against their trap, as he was unsure a single weapon in his ankle was enough.

Diarmuid yanked the hero killing spear from his clutches in the moment of Achilles bewilderment and wedged the blade deep into his torso, accompanied by the slamming of his entire body to bring him down. Ripping the spear from his body, Diarmuid stood and hovered the blade inches from his heart,

"If I spear you, you die, being that you are no longer immortal. Thus, you should count the blades in your heels to be your loss."

Achilles laughter erupted against the stampeding horses that traveled their way over, and then dispersed in a series of green speckles when he raised his hand. The continuous smacking of his palms echoes in the stadium as the barrier's walls begin to dissipate,

"Well I be damned, you actually made me feel something. The conditions have been met- you dealt a fatal blow." Achilles said, as the weapons lodged in his ankles disappeared and what he registered as Merlin's magic healed all of his injuries. 

The Heroic Sirit stood and extended his fist to Diarmuid, "Congrats."

Diarmuid’s arm fell to his side, as the spear de-materialized from his grasp. The satchels across his back following suit. He would miss his cherished weapons. He raised his fist to the bold hero, then he staggered backward, trying to find support as Briscella's gearing of the onlookers continued. 

Every part of him throbbed. Achilles successfully shattered the bone in his ribs, _twice_. Rubbing his midsection, he felt one was dislodged to the point it was pressing against his skin in a small bulge. He... desperately needed healers, not the frustrating rally of their victory. Did he hear that right? They were the second to be victorious against the panel?

Haley dropped to her knees, was it over? She saw the weapons wedged in the Greek Hero's ankles disappear in a flurry of stars/ She cupped her face in her hands as the crowd's cheers made her head hurt. They were so loud, and she was oh so damn tired. 

She called for Diarmuid, but her voice was barely audible, as it was swiftly carried away by Briscella's announcement of the second challenger victory so far. _Second..._?

Haley waltzed over, her arms sluggishly swishing at her side. She raised her head to find Achilles smiling wildly at her and she had no energy to even care. She was drained. His large hand patted her back. 

Achilles quickly recognized the woman for her support of Diarmuid, and how well she—a mere human—toughed him out. Her icy glare bit him and his cool laugh had her sighing. She was glad they won, she really was, but it was so hard to enjoy it when every sound in the coliseum punished her headache.

Instructed to leave to the Healers under the bleachers, Haley turned to the Heroic Spirit before her and elongated her hand, feeling kind of bad for shutting him down before. This would probably be the last time she saw him for a while, and even though she still detested the panel that put them through these rigorous hells, she felt remaining in their good graces was a good idea,

"Thanks for the match," was all she could think to say, as the Spiky haired man planted his fist in her palm. It was an.. odd gesture, but okay.

"I was hesitant about fighting a lady, but you did good out there. Lets fight again sometime, at full power." He threw her a careless wink.

Her eyebrow rose, and she shook her head frantically, "Nuh uh. I'm good."

His signature laugh overruled the crowd as he turned away with a flag like wave, disappearing in gold and blue speckles.

Haley steadied Diarmuid as they exited the platform. She wanted to heal him, but her magic was being dulled once again by a strange force within the Dome. They found a Healer, who worked immediately on his damaged rib cage, while another used a damp cloth to pat away the crusted blood on her forehead. She let them pamper them, until they were better. They earned that much.

Crystal eyes looked around the room, and along the bedsides were plentiful amounts of injured souls from past battles, and Haley wondered which of them was the other pair of victors, if any of them were. It was strange, they all still seemed battered, and she wondered why the Healers were not tending to them? 

It was then that Anna clacked over in her heels, that folder of hers seemingly thinner, as she instructed they go back to their hotel room, and wait for further instructions on the watch. She side eyed the remaining competitors, and found it weirder they were not told to do the same.

Diarmuid extended his arm to Haley, who practically sunk into it after she intertwined her arm with his. He wanted so much to discuss with her how proud he was of their success. How wonderful her support was, and their working together was the only reason they found victory. 

But the way she dragged along the walk, made him relive the best moment of their duel solely in his thoughts. He heard the The Announcer coo the crowd with the names of the next pair of souls who were to do battle next. They both exchanged glances, as their Observer ushered them along, cuffs snapping around his wrists with that lingering burning sensation.

They strut down the path to the front entrance, the barrier blocking their view of whatever events were going on inside. She looked to the stands, wondering how any of them saw through the facade, and realized they were wearing shaded glasses. They must have been laced with some sort of magic, Haley guessed.

Diarmuid looked over his shoulder when they paused at the double doors that led to the lobby. The Observer stopped them to converse in private for a moment with the Observer that guarded the hall. 

A metallic sound thrummed through the Arena, and the crowd gasped. In that moment, he thought of the fellow souls like himself, and whispered them a wish of good luck. For if there had only been two victories thus far, he was sure, they would need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 14 Hours... writing this fight scene, gathering information on the characters from friends on a Fate discord, and watching over and over again how Diarmuid and Achilles fight. Holy hell. And then the further four hours FINISHING the chapter. My goodness @_@ Please tell me someone enjoyed this lol


	21. Entertainment

"That was ludicrous." Kiritsugu muttered to the empty room. Finally removed from those wretched tangerine prison wear, the Magus slayer sat back along the sofa in his familiar dark trench coat and slacks. 

These Gods.. they were toying with him. It was laughable, really. Just as he expected, they were just as fickle as humanity. They attempted to leave no room for victory. Their losses were meant to weed the participants out faster. Had his son not saw through Loki's master trickery with his clairvoyance- they would have fallen to his challenge. Ridiculous.

It was clear now, just how far the father and adopted son had to go to secure their victory in the tournament. With the dark haired man being lackluster in the appropriate skills necessary to fight full on Gods, and the orange top unable to utilize his magic without completely tiring himself, they would need to result in original tactics. 

It was a shame, the boy he had come to raise had believed him to be a righteous man, but had yet to really see how the Magus Slayer fought and killed. It had actually created quite the argument, when the kid realized how his figurehead manipulated their little teammates in that ship war.

That boy, he was a good kid in the end. The older man had done something right, in his ways of teaching. Unfortunately, there was no reason to be better, as the teenager begged him to be. He was always the type of man to do what was necessary for his means, even if it meant playing downright dirty. This was definitely no different. They were in a tournament that seemed anything but fair to its participants. 

In the gates to the _Underworld_ , no less.

Kiritsugu sucked in a drag of the bud of his cigarette, and let loose a stream of smoke from his lips. His leg hung over the other, as he leaned back into the plush sofa. The room was eerily quiet, only the sound of water running in the bathroom as Shirou cleansed himself making a sound. Cold, dark eyes studied the spin of the ceiling fan. The Japanese man began sorting through his next plans, when an array of dust interrupted his thoughts.

"I see you live up to your reputation, Magus Slayer," the sly voice cooed, "I was correct in my assumption that you would create quite a show."

The cigarette left gaping lips in a slow motion at the figure that materialized before him. This was a striking turn of events. Never did the former Assassin think he would be visited by such a presence. The mildly surprised man remained collected, smearing the tip of the remnants of the cig into the ashtray on the nightstand beside him. Empty eyes narrowed, full of suspicion,

"You... What business do you have here?"

The form glided across the room, tediously examining the merchandise he had purchased from the market in the Hotel. His gracious hands lifted a ceramic bowl that he examined thoroughly before offering Kiritsugu a wry smile,

"I have means that I need accomplished, but there is a persistent wrench being thrust into them." He carefully places the object back into its rightful place on the furniture. Strolling leisurely to harass more of his belongings, he went on, "Tell me, how do you suppose we make a deal?"

\--------------------------------------------

That was a definite surprising turn of affairs. After some generous leverage, the Spirit had finally left. Not a moment too soon, as the running stream of water had abruptly stopped. Their victory was now almost guaranteed. Kiritsugu inferred it was not wise to entirely bet everything finished, despite this specific encouragement. The soul could not entirely be trusted. Now the question was if it were smart to indulge his idealist son on the matter that just occurred before him..

The watch hummed, rattling on the surface of the night stand. Adjusting the collar of the smoky undershirt, the cold man stood and meandered to the bathroom door. Nonchalantly leaning his back to the corner of the door, he informed his son to be ready to give a short speech. They were not allowed to go on about the specifics of their match, but rather their strategies and how they felt about their win.

"Haaah...?" Shirou exasperated loudly in confusion among the steam that heated the washroom. After ruffling the towel through his scarlet spikes, he in a frenzy, wrapped the blue fabric around his waist. "What for?"

"Our victory against Loki. Apparently, we are appearing with the other victors. Precisely in one hour." His son's groan escaped through the door between them and a smirk curled at the corner of his lip. It was a tedious effort, with no real reason... All for good entertainment, as Kiritsugu’s new informant—and inconspicuous ally—related to him moments ago.

Shirou splayed his palms flat on the enameled steel of the sink, and glimpsed the white forming in his messy hair. He wanted more than anything some time in between to rest after their match. He was pushed beyond his limitations, and five hours was not enough time to recollect himself. Now he and the old man had to appear before a crowd to boast about that suffering win? It was nonsensical, even after their Healers had dealt their handiwork on his handicaps.

Dressed in a simple white t-shirt and jean shorts, Shirou exited into their room that still lingered with the smell of smoke and met his father with a faint smile. The young boy collapsed onto the bed, and stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. What would they say in front of the crowd? Would they ask them questions? Kiritsugu's nonchalant shrug had him covering his eyes with one arm.

Kiritsugu was much colder than he had remembered, and it made him second guess the image of his father he once knew and looked up to. At every angle and turn, he's had to argue over his role model’s backhanded ways of handling things. All he could do was stop him from going too far when things got messy, otherwise, he did understand _why_ he had to be that way, here. He drops his arm. It was no use thinking about that now.

As they came up with their sham of a speech, something gnawed at the back of Kiritsugu's deliberation of what to do next in the upcoming tournament trials. Having information on what each round will consist of now, there were things he said that did not add up. How would these things lead to the goal of that conniving soul? 

It was too peculiar not to investigate, so while they played along with their little alliance, he was sure, he and Shirou would be on the winning side of things.

\--------------------------------------------

The crowd was as exuberant as always, cheering as their Panel entered one by one—with the exclusion of Dolos and Athena—in a series of flower petals and flashy notions. The grand cast of the other side's people chanted in bleachers around the stadium, furthering their happiness all the while the frustrations of Haley. 

The telenekenic would never get over their unanimous enjoyment of their deepened struggles to compete to save their souls. Now they were to stand before them, engage in their stupid humiliation of boasting about their wins? She couldn't understand it. Simply surviving their wretched methods of torture was not her vision of, "victory".

Waiting for Briscella's signal to enter the Arena from the stands, Haley and Diarmuid sat, filled with distaste for the unfathomable array of winners alongside them. The tension was not easily split even by the strongest among them. 

Haley stunk with worry, as her Knight's balance was wavering between curse filled rage, and control of oneself. She was thinking of how best to soothe his fits. If he could just ignore their presence, and get through this little escapade...

Diarmuid gritted his teeth attempting to disregard the circle of victors he was a part of. To his far right, that blasted Kiritsugu leaned against the wall, hands shoved in his trousers pockets accompanied by that kid who fought beside him. 

To his left, the witch Medea and her.. well, whatever the man was to her. He was dressed in a black suit, as if ready to attend a meeting. There was also that strange duo of a young woman boh in matching jumpsuits, that his Master had mentioned she recognized from the introductions long past.

Then there was his ultimate betrayal, as furthest away as possible. It was barely within his power to hold down the rage that seeped through his clamped fingers. The light feeling in his chest gone, replaced with relentless indignation. His teeth were practically cracking under pressure from how hard he ground them together. Kayneth, no longer handicapped, seemed alone, which he believed a costly mistake.

A steady hand softly overlapped his own and gave a reassuring squeeze,

"Easy... I'm here. Just focus on me... okay?"

The raging man released the clench of his jaw, and attempted to swallow agitation, which proved highly difficult. The Irish Knight was known for keeping his cool in the lengths of battle, surely he could suppress this. 

Diarmuid sucked in a breath, and leveled his gaze with the lady beside him. He returned her tender smile with his own. The benevolence that hugged her appearance steadily replaced the ferocious pounding of his heart with an assuaged feeling instead.

Guilt washed over, the cursed man has always passed on his troubles regarding such matters to the sweet woman. He needed to be in command of his sensitivities, otherwise all of her time would be of waste, "I apologize, my Lady... I must do better, no, I _will_ do better." Her giggle lacked mockery, but instead was sweet like candy,

"Oh shoosh. You're doing just fine. They haven't met your wrath, which shows your restraint," she pat the muscle in his chest, "That's a good thing."

Still stifling with the wretched burning of the curses impulses, the dark hair man nods in agreement. Indeed, Haley was correct. Thinking back, in previous bits of rage, he had... well, she had suffered for it. If he could have done that to her at the time, he could only imagine the result if it were Kiritsugu or Kayneth in her place. 

Diarmuid was to ask her if she had come to pass her fear of him from that time when—the blaring of Bercella calling them all to the center stage— cut his inquiry.

\--------------------------------------------

Nine wooden chairs in a circle laid out at the center of the Arena, waited for them to take their seats. Observers lined the corners, waiting for any of them to take action on one another. They were to be in such close proximity to their enemies, and he was unsure how comfortable Shirou felt being that one of them reeked of murderous intent. 

That Diarmuid spirit still harbored a strong grudge against his father, and he felt it rightfully so knowing their... connection to each other. Another repercussion of Kiritsugu's cruel past, and he aimed to get revenge from what he could tell. Still, the tormented spirit clutched his sweater as if it were the only thing holding him back.

Then there was Medea, the Caster class Servant from the fifth Holy Grail war. The elf like Magus covered from head to toe in her hooded cape. She was his personal enemy, and when they had gone to defeat her— she had been defeated by True Assassin, after... Shirou's eyes drifted to his former teacher, Souichirou had been mutilated. 

There were so many ghosts from their pasts in this tournament and he was glad his father had found a way to mitigate at least one of them onto his side, even if it were temporary.

Planting his rear on the hardwood chair, Kiritsugu surveyed the surrounding company. It was a shit show. To think his son's enemies, and his own were sitting around them like a campfire. Too bad there was no song, and the only fire was in the belly of the beast across from him. Strangely enough, the blood he vividly remembered being across both his eyes, only stained one, and was no longer in its entirety like before.

"Now that the previous Forsaken have finished their punishment games," Haley's head perked, _had... already finished their games_? 

Wait, it had only been a few hours since the Boss fights had ended... did they really thrust them into battle that soon after? The warning from Ozzard... was that why said not to get too injured from their fight? Had he really given them such a warning? 

"We must hear how you all prevailed so well against our Elite! Please come forth, Medea and her Forsaken Souichirou, and tell us!" Briscella called, waving her gloved hand at the scowling, elf eared woman.

Listening to the impish woman speak of her ability as a Heroic Spirit set off alarm bells. She was in her prime, and not a copy of herself, since exiting the Throne of Heroes during its leakage. Her open admittance was _dangerous_. 

Shirou whispered that the CounterForce had close eyes on her according to the information he heard from his future self. Kiritsugu grunted, after her cocky exterior finally left the platform, blurple hair swaying behind her, they were called next. The Briscella woman—who was agitating to say the least— compelled the dark haired man to speak, in light of his son over their grand victory.

Onyx eyes casually glanced around the panel of judges and met the stares of all of them. The golden Heroic Spirit King snarled, seemingly remembering him. According to his son: he stuck around the living world long after his service in the fourth Grail War, retaining his memories even after being swallowed by the Shadow. 

The contempt the King of Heroes most likely held for the Magus Slayer was probably equal to or greater than that of Diarmuid, since he ordered Saber to destroy the Grail during their final fight.

"The victory was brought forth through my strenuous planning, and my son's wonderful abilities. We won't be discussing them, as there are clear competitors surrounding us, but let's just say it played a key part in taking the upper hand."

Briscella nodded happily, the gold earrings swaying, agreeing notably for them being the smartest victory among those gathered, "Tell us, do you believe you and your Detainer can win over the remaining competition?" 

Kiritsugu circled the competition with his eyes, and readied to attempt another scheme. It would be interesting if it should work. Meeting the eyes of his informant he titled his head to his chest,

"Yes, I believe we can. This competition is a farce in terms of adversaries. Sure, we have Heroic Spirits to fight, but given past experiences," He sideways glanced at the ticking time bomb that he targeted his next words to, "The pride of Heroes is easily trampled on."

\--------------------------------------------

Diarmuid was not sure why those simple words were trigger enough to sway his composure. The smug grin on the bastard's face and the way his eyes targeted him, only fueled the flame in his heart hotter. He was driven only by the hate slithering in his boiling stature. The infuriated Knight raised from his seat.

"For crying out loud!" His Master's limited patience intercepted his advancement, catching him off guard by the sheer outrage in her voice, "Seriously, what the _hell_ did Diarmuid ever do to _you_!?"

The chair tumbled behind Haley as she shot out of it, her fists trembling at her sides. Her and Diarmuid had enough on their plate with her bounty, Loki, and this entire tournament to have one of the competitors antagonize them over petty nonsense.

Ah, so it was the woman who would be the one to react, he could work with that. Kiritsugu pressed his eyes together calmly, pretending to show little interest in her outburst. "What are you going on about, girl?"

"Don't think I missed the way you looked at Diarmuid when you said those last few words," Haley barely let out a breath in her dragged out sentence. 

The psychic’s senses tinged with confusion and worry from their surrounding company. She didn't care. Even if the entire Arena thought her to be insane, she would call out Kiritsugu on his nonsense. Even if not a soul understood his game, she was going to make sure _he_ knew that she clearly did. 

"Your demeanor stinks of provocation and it's directed entirely at him! His pride and honor is what makes him ten times a better person than you ever will be!"

Medea crossed her arms across her chest as she leaned lazily into the back of her chair. Well this was certainly interesting and unexpected. That Haley character clearly believed his provocations were aimed directly to her Forsaken. For what purpose did that even serve? She questioned this scenario with a raise of her eyebrows and Souichirou answered her with a shrug.

Chuckling, Kiritsugu goaded them further, "Girl, that pitifully retired Knight and his shattered honor is not worth my time."

"Come on, old Man, stop instigating them," Palms up, Shirou patted the air. What was the point of him galling them for? This is the second time he _personally_ went after them in some way. What was his deal?

The heat rushed to Haley's ears, and she bit back a scowl. Really, he was _pitiful_ , now? What other slights did he have hiding in his closet for them? She searched her brain for any sort of witty retort, but came up emptier than the blank eyes on their intimidator. 

With nothing else to say, she reeled in her outburst and readied to sit until she stumbled over hardwood. Her head sung, and her clear view of the ceiling reminded her the chair toppled over.

 _Pathetic_. That was his Detainer? Kayneth’s measly former Servant could have done better. She was nothing short but a little girl, bewitched just as in his legend. The nerve. It was despicable how he continued to ravish in his lust and even here: have a lady under his spell. 

Now, the french Magus had to sit and compete with him yet again, and listen to his useless rubble. Couldn't he just meet his damn end, already? There was planning the blonde had to do, and this little interview for the crowd needed to conclude.

It was unmistakable, they weren't the craziest duo there, after all. Laughable! The bickering, oh the bickering, ever so entertaining. Elicia clapped her hands, her laughter not containable, anymore. Her dear husband, Rolfe, gripped her hand and shook it with delight, joining in on her hysterics.

"Well, at least the interruptions have silenced themselves," Briscella said with a boisterous leap across the air followed with guffaws in the crowd, "Now, shall we continue?"

If anyone could turn the hopeless fits around; it was his wondrous Master. The angst in the lady’s voice when she questioned that bastard, and the way she defended his honor... it had stilled his heart. 

Her eruption diverted his irate behavior that would have handed them a senseless conclusion in their fight. How silly the woman looked was how foolish he felt for letting such a nonsensical comment ignite such carelessness. 

The Knight held out his hand to the overturned woman whose scene almost had himself also in a fit of laughter,

"The brevity in your words was quite endearing, but such delivery is not worthy of it, my Lady." Diarmuid whispered offering her a wink, with his most boisterous smile, "But you have my thanks."

As humiliating as _that_ spectacle was, Haley could only find herself laughing too. Especially when even Diarmuid could poke fun at her for it. Careful hands flipped the chair back and lean legs sculpted in tight pants sat in the chair. The lady was tuckered out from the stress that was this simple interview. 

Sitting through the rest of victors was a pain, but was also informative. Haley figured that while this was for the audience's pure entertainment and wanting to hear more from the teams capable of bringing down the God's of the tournament. She considered it was also to give advantages over the "top" competitors. There was no doubt in the brunette's mind that aside from that naughty, crazed couple, that the surrounding champions were doing the same.

Finally their turn, Haley kept it simple. They won because of their careful strategy they planned with the information given to them from the key. They did their best to manipulate the situation around them. Of course there was more to it, like the hint given to them from one of their sponsors, and the sheer capability of her healing. Or how Diarmuid was responsible for most of their success with his quick thinking. However, all this would remain their own little hidden gems.

"Of course! That definitely fits with your match. Now tell us, quickly, what of that little squabble earlier? Would you care to explain that?"

Haley froze and met the stare stained with unease in Diarmuid's eyes. It should have been obvious that the scene she created would easily find its way back into conversation. She had to be quick witted, say something that will shut this discussion down. Somehow settle the Announcer in the Greek dress’ curiosity.

"Stomping on a hero's pride... it felt personal because..." She hiccuped. Nope, she was not handling this right but had to run with it and hope to escape the trap of further questions, "Our pride is all that we have, sometimes." 

The lady’s head hung, "Even in this tournament— even if the end is bleak... We pride ourselves to be better, to _do_ better, and if someone attacks and wrecks those precious feelings.. well..." She lingered, thinking of what Diarmuid's pride as Knight meant to him. How it was all stripped away from him time and time again and the hopelessness he felt because of it, 

"What else does one have, after that? Nothing, and that is... an end worse than death."

It was with great fervor that Diarmuid’s large hand held the Lady’s. Those darling words were geared toward him, with pure sentiment and heart for his inner turmoils. Chestnut locks tilted towards him, to gift the Knight a sweet smile as she squeezed his hand. What had he done, to have someone who would defend his core values so valiantly? His heart began to race, and his breaths hitched.

Briscella smiled fervently, "Something like that is indeed precious, necessary, even. I see, I see, well," She glanced to the panel members and was given the shake of the head to not further press the question that followed after such a statement. 

Her attention gleamed back to the lot of competitors, "That is all we have time for, today."

Haley dropped a relieved sigh, and the stampede of her heart slowed to a regular pace. Thank goodness. She was worried she would follow up with why Kiritsugu would target their pride personally like that, if her outburst were correct. 

She was not ready to answer that question without opening doors she was sure Diarmuid and even herself; wanted to keep sealed tightly. Plus, it was almost certain she'd be giving insight to his curse that lingered. If she did, she was sure the enemy could easily take advantage of that as Kiritsugu had just tried.

Immediately dispelling from his chair, Kayneth bowed to his superiors and waved on an Observer to get him the hell out of there. While it was wonderful gaining knowledge on his enemies, he had places he'd rather be. Just witnessing this ordeal told him he had to redo his strategy. 

He had an idea for his Detainer, that he was sure this would progress them pleasantly. Tch... his Detainer... that man and his obsession with the girl was either going to break him, or win him everything. 

\--------------------------------------------

Diarmuid trailed Kayneth's rushed exit, not forgetting his presence was also among them. It was strange, why had his Detainer not joined them? The quick mention they were unavailable from Briscella was odd indeed. They passed over it so quickly, he definitely assumed something was amiss there. He was suspicious of it, quite frankly.

Scanning the fellow contenders as they left, The raven haired man sized up their potential against them. Most were doable, and most he had experience with before. That was either a blessing, or a hindrance depending on their own plans against him. 

The Grail removing memories of past summons rectified the situation he and his Master were in now. Ah well, it was best not to worry. The spear man would take them on as the time came, and with how the tournament had been doing things: he was more worried for the challenges than his opponents.

Anyhow, cursed eyes glanced at the panel that discussed among themselves. The group that was defeated by the lot that left, had two souls missing the entire time. Dolos... was it.. and Athena seemed to be absent. He began to ponder why, when his Master hooked her arm under his,

"Ready to go...?" Diarmuid offered her a generous smile and nodded. Maybe he was thinking too much into who was or wasn't present on the stage, but he would not entirely dismiss it.

The door clanked heavily behind them, and Haley slid down the metal to the hard floor. She blew a raspberry, and looked up to her Knight, "You did good, back there. Your control over what the curse does to your emotions has come a remarkable way."

He joined her, sitting closely to her side and crossed his legs. The khakis he wore tightened around the creases in his legs, having him shift his position against the door. Her statement.. was not entirely true,

"Not quite... I had almost broken down but..." He ran his fingers through his raven hair, "It was you that leveled me." She cocked her head at his statement, clearly confused, "My Lady... your challenge to Kiritsugu's jab snapped me into reality. Thank you."

Haley linked her arm under his and rested her temple on his shoulder. She would do it, time and time again for him. He was worth so much more than that monster could ever care to appreciate. She wanted him to know that, but when he pulled his arm from her, to instead ensnare it over her shoulder to press her further into his side, she... was not sure what to say.

His head sloped to catch hers, "Would it... be too bold to continue like this, even if for a little while?"

She pulled at his sleeves. No, this.. was fine, even if her heart stammered to find the correct rhythm. It was... a strange feeling that she welcomed, however dubious. 

She released his shirt and hugged his waist, signing into his shoulder. Yeah, she could be fine with this, even for a little while.

\--------------------------------------------

"That was all you could muster from him?" The agitated figure said, folding their arms across their chest.

"It seems he is not as broken as you described him," Kiritsugu stated simply, lighting the tail of his cigarette to bring delicately to his lips, "I believe that to be in your error, not mine."

His informant hissed, and gazed over the rooftop to the Coliseum afar, "Seems so. No matter, there is something we can do about that." the person pressed their eyes closed, "Things shall continue as planned. Be sure to rest, as the next battle will be a long one."

Kiritsugu blew a stream of smoke, and nodded as they departed. Their little encounter was brief, but he knew what he had to do next, not only for their plan, but for his own as well. He turned his head up, gazing at the stars. Their next challenge... survival of the fittest, eh? Well, he was not worried. With who he had in the background, all would go as planned, and he was going to rather enjoy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Between having to work overnights, trying to get my sleep cycle back AFTER doing that, WRITERS BLOCK, and then having to write so many characters together in one scene?! It was sooo hard. lol Anyhow, the updates should be back to a couple a week, again. We are finally at the point where some stuff starts to change and the plot begins to thicken. WEEEEEEE


	22. Angst Accompanied by Round 3

Diarmuid kept his cheek nestled at the top of her noggin, skimming his fingers through her silky hair. He silently reprimanded himself for cradling her for so long, but he dismissed his nervousness.

Was this just admiration, and appreciation for the fresh way she treated him? Was it gratitude to have a woman not afflicted by his curse still want to be next to him? To learn about him? Or was it something more? He closed his eyes. He was a fool. He could not allow it to be anything else. He was... cursed, dead, and even further, hell bound unless they managed a win. It was.. ridiculous.. and yet...

He remained intertwined with her. As reluctant he may be to admit it, he wanted to retain this. If he refrained from letting himself feel at the last opportunity he had... with most likely the only person he felt worthy of it, it would be his only regret. There were plenty of battles to fight, a curse to heal.. and yet - even if none of those managed to work out - the time spent with this woman made it all worthwhile.

A tender smile crept up his lip, as he sorted through his thoughts. _ 'Enjoy every moment to the fullest' _ , her words bounced around his mind. Something she pressed him to do when he refused to allow her in. How many times has he attempted to do that, since she requested it? Plenty, he figured. Every opportunity that came thus far, he managed to experience and majority involved her or happened because of her.

His recollection traveled to the rooftop, where the stars above, like diamonds, twinkled bright across the navy sky. Where those same stars became the object of their entertainment, transformed by their imagination into varying images. She personified him as a bear, then, powerful and protective. He wondered if she meant protective of her... and his head leaned from hers into the wall, remembering not so pleasant a memory,

"My Lady, might I ask you something?" She nodded into his chest, that she sunk into further. He pat the back of her hair softly, "Do you... still fear me?"

Haley's eyes slowly opened, and her eyebrows knit together. "No.. why would I be scared of you?"

"Because I..."

Haley followed his idle stare to the crack in the wall, and his sudden question made sense. She wondered how long he might have been looking at the imprint of her skull that surfaced from when he smashed her against it.

"Oh. Well... It's not the first time it's happened to me." She chuckled playfully, nudging him with her elbow. Concern bled into his features, and she sighed, maybe the joke was a little unwarranted for such a serious matter.

"I... have not always been kind to you," his voice trailed off, as he met the curiosity in the crystals of her stare, "And you have perfect reason to be frightened of me. Yet.. you never waver. Even... when I lose myself in the bits of the curse.. You remain confident in me. Why is that?"

The back of her head drifted into his lap so she could peer up at him, and feel more comfortable than how slanted she was leaning into his side. It was a respectable question. Most people probably would have given up on him, hell, some might have even killed him when he.. had done what he did back then. But she was not everyone else.

"Back then, I was terrified. But I knew curses enough to understand that it amplified the insecurity that I would betray you so I had to at least  _ try _ to stop it. And how pitiful would I look if I gave in because I was scared?" She shook her head, the back of her noggin scraping against his pants, "And then I got to know you and it confirmed I did the right thing so... I remain confident in you because..." She gave him her best smile, "I care about you, Diarmuid. More than anything."

His chest tightened, and not in an unfavorable way. For a woman to care for him, not for his lovespot, but for himself alone... he had not thought it would matter as much as it had. 

He brushed the tip of his fingers under her side bangs, swaying them as he drifted down to halt at her jawline. She was so relaxed, laying across his thighs. Had she always been this beautiful? Had he ever actually paid attention? Her eyes were blue as the sea, and her sweet smile was like flowers on her skin. How had he not noticed before...?

She topped his hand with her own, and leaned into his palm with closed eyes. She loved how gentle he was, whenever he touched her. It was something she was not used to. Diarmuid was so sweet. How could she be afraid of someone who treated her like this? She knew what a true evil, and cold man was... and he didn't fit the description. At all.

"You.. have my thanks, my Lady. I am glad it is you, fighting by my side because.." His throat bobbed, his voice in a deep whisper, "I... care for you, as well." He finally admitted to her, and it felt like a thorn in his side had finally been pulled. Still, he had not known the weight of his words, or the extent of them- but he rather embraced this than run from it. She... was worth it, he decided.

Haley nodded. Of course she would remain by his side and fight. How silly was he being, right now? She chuckled, which was followed by an embarrassing yawn. It was sudden, but she felt sleepy. She rested after their fight with Achilles, so this was strange. She was not easily tired, but the funny thing was, she felt more exhausted more often than usual...

The watch vibrated, interrupting her train of thought as she sat up to read the message aloud,

'Rest wisely, Round 3 will begin in 12 hours. Bring the Ruby key.'

"Jeez, so quick?" She pushed off the floor and stumbled to the bed, "Well, guess I should take their advice." She glanced to Diarmuid who answered with a nod, and she drifted off to sleep.

\--------------------------------

"I like this one..." Haley centered on the medium, gold plated sword, that had thin armor to match. She was light, and required something that complimented her physique. The armor was adjustable, too, to help with her above average height. She looked to Diarmuid for confirmation.

He inspected the plates for her shin and her arms. The chest plate might be a bit... He slanted his gaze to her mediocre... well, it was going to be loose. It shouldn't be too terrible, though. She needn't worry.

Haley signaled a worker over and he removed the battle set from the glass and lumped it with the items Diarmuid had brought together as well. At first she thought the necessities for the next round would be... expensive in points. However, they.. well, were loaded. 

After defeating Achilles, their points skyrocketed to where anything was doable. Even their currency was high - too bad they didn't really care for the things that they could use it for.. outside the Arena. She actually felt bad. She wondered how those who didn't effectively gather enough points would fare in the upcoming rounds in the tournament given how essential some of these things were.

Her gaze wandered around the shop. Aside from basic needs, like different foods and drinks to be transported into the Arena, there were katanas that hung along the crystal blue walls, and some spears even hung. 

Cases filled with different style guns, daggers, and knives, were delicately placed around the room. There were manikins with purchasable armor for both men and women, and they were of different styles and centuries. She debated retrieving one of the modern weapons - but decided against it because well, she didn't know how to use them. It crossed her mind, though, to be mindful that these very things will appear in her enemies hands, though.

After they selected the necessities, Diarmuid and Haley were escorted underneath the Arena in the bland room, surrounded by fellow competitors. Once again, instructed to wait for Briscella to finish gearing the crowd for the next Round. An Observer announced, when they all arrived, what to expect.

Haley shrunk into her shoulders... so, they were to survive for ten days in the Arena... The kicker? Detainers were targets, and were unable to fight Or  _ heal themselves  _ with magic. It was completely the responsibility for the Forsaken to keep them safe. If they failed, their souls would be stripped shortly after. 

In addition to that, whoever defeated the most Detainers gained a special prize to further them in the tournament. Now, If the Forsaken were to be defeated - the Detainer would not be free to return to their world until the ten days were over - or if they died.

She groaned. The weapon she spent their points on- worthless this match. She paced, while Diarmuid laid across the bench, arms folded behind his head. He was probably deep in thought on the stakes this time around. She bit her lip, after their brief heart to heart, she bet he was perturbed. She knelt down on her knees, and rested her chin on the arms she crossed over his chest,

"Whatcha thinkin about?"

He spared her a glance, then returned his gander to the rumbling of the Arena above them. Were she not nervous of the rules that were just proclaimed? She was to be on the level of a damsel and she was hardly the part. 

Well, he was at least grateful that the luxuries they bought were of food, clothes and other supplies he thought would be necessary in the battle. He knew the odd majority of the options were such things. Now it came together, since they were to survive in the Arena for an extended period of time.

"About too many things, my lady. Are you not frightened?"

Her lips vibrated across his jumpsuit as she hummed, "A little, but I have my Knight in shining armor to protect me, so I think I will be fine."

He breathed outward through his nose, all the while his smile crept back at his lip. Silly woman. He ruffled the top of her hair in a bunched, tangled mess. The way she scrunched her nose and murdered him with her icy stare only encouraged a low laugh.

She reached out, to pull that silly strand of hair that swayed over his nose when he laughed- when a screen dropped and a countdown began. Diarmuid shot up, almost knocking her back on to her rear. He swung his feet over the bench and grabbed her hand, as a fuzzy static sizzled through her skin. 

Haley inhaled, gripping his hand tighter. She meant it, when she said she trusted her to protect her. She got the hang of surviving, but not with - her eyes scanned their room of cursed spirits, angry souls, and company they made sure to avoid given past experiences - so many adversaries breathing down her neck.

Diarmuid stood and pulled her into his side, hanging his arm around her waist. They were to teleport in twenty seconds into the Arena, and he wanted to keep her close, just in case. He made the mistake once before, leaving a lady too far off for his protection and it had not ended well. His grip tensed, and they transported into the Arena.

\----------------------------

It was a rush of air and gust that planted her on top of him into the weeds of grass that curled around the uprooted gravel. His breath burned hot against her lips, and his arm was still tightly wrapped along her back. For a split second, opportunity struck, and all of the features registered in her thoughts.. The perfect way his jawbone curved, the high rise of his nose... 

She blinked. Well, this was awkward.

"My lady... can you..?"

"Oof, sorry!" She rolled to the side, and surveyed their surroundings. Anything to get her mind off what she was thinking.

Haley felt awestruck by the enormous detail in their environment. Crumbled buildings engrossed with overgrown grass stretched far into a forest that circled around a rotting bridge. Cars broke down and entangled with weeds were scattered across cracked roads and trees that sprouted in random patches of grass. It was like a post apocalyptic event happened in this magical, battered city.

Thunder rolled through the heavy, smoke colored clouds that clumped together across the sky. The air was graced with the scent of rain, and a strong breeze whined, aching to spill the overflow of water bundled tightly in the clouds above.

Diarmuid joined her at her side and glanced around. There were no enemies as far as he could tell, just scattered boulders, and plastic being carried by the wind. The trees swayed in the gusts and leaves raced past them as a loud thud erupted behind them. He turned to see a duffel bag dropped from a ripple in the Arena.

Digging through the ugly brown bag, Haley realized it was the belongings they ordered with their points, and Diarmuid slung it over his shoulder. They should find shelter quickly, before they were to fall victim to either drenching rain, or an enemy hiding out in any of the easily occupied buildings.

Shattered glass crunched under her feet, and she carefully splayed her hands across the window's ledge to hop into the broken down cafe. She strolled through overturned chairs and collapsed tables to the bar sink and attempted to run the faucet. The corroded metal only squeaked, and a single drop of water squeezed through the tap. Another priority would be to find water. They had only two water bottles each, and obviously that was not enough for ten days in a demolished city.

Lightning whipped the sky with a crack, the pattering of rain dripped and then rushed heavily into the pavement. Diarmuid ducked into the kitchen that layered the back and dug through the cabinets until he found a sizable bucket that was probably used for cleaning.

Diarmuid grabbed a rag from the sink and wiped down the inner part of the bucket a couple of times, while holding it out in the rain. Rain water was not always available, but it made for relatively safe water to drink so long it was taken directly from the sky. Something he learned on his extended hunting trips.

"Shouldn't we make sure it's safe, first?" Haley questioned, "You never know with the demented way they do things."

"Yes, you might be right," Diarmuid nabbed a cup from the counter and dipped it, pooling a quarter size amount of water into it and brought it to his nose, "It smells normal," he sipped the liquid and nodded, "It is fine, but we shall continue to be careful."

Haley agreed, wishing they had a filter or something to test the water for any.. poisons or something the Hosts might come up with. Maybe this portion of the Arena was meant to be natural. Looking around, it seemed likely. With having water, all that was left was finding food. They only had enough canned fruits and bagged snacks to last a couple of days. It's a good thing she is accustomed to living off a scarce amount.

They wandered around the cracked foundation of the Cafe. Broken frames, and wood snapped under their feet, as they looked for possibly a staircase or anything for their enemies to hide. The structure they were in was squared off like a box and they relaxed. 

So They sat, backs pressed behind the counter, hiding themselves from the broken view the windows gave their enemies. Haley dared herself to try the rainwater, and was surprised at how fresh it tasted. She glimpsed the bathroom not too far off, and dismissed the thought of how smelly it could soon be since there was clearly no plumbing. Her eyes traveled upward to the roof lined with cobwebs and followed a spider sewing its web.

"How should we handle enemies?" Haley asked, bringing her knees to her chest to wrest her wrist on them as she flicked through the watch. She figured now would be the best time to discuss strategy, since they had no weapons. No armor. They were sitting ducks.

Diarmuid rolled his sleeves above his elbows, "I collected a couple of knives, however worn they may be. It would do if someone should attack."

A worried line formed across Haley's lips, "We aren't going to target Detainers, are we?"

"Depends, my Lady," Diarmuid started carefully, wondering where she was going with this. "Should a Forsaken attack us, it might be best to take out the former."

There was nothing useful on the watch, and she dropped her arms to her sides, "But are we personally going after them for the rewards or whatever..?"

He placed his palm on her shoulder, "Did you not want to?"

Her lower lip rolled under her teeth. No, she really didn't. Unlike the souls of the Underworld... the Detainers—well, most of them—were living beings. They would actually die and she was not really comfortable taking someone's life for some sort of benefit. 

It might of been stupid, and she was sure Diarmuid would disagree given his warrior status, but she wanted to stay true to herself while being here. It was the one promise she made, because surely the Underworld could do strange things to living beings... "I really don't.. If we could avoid it... just focus on surviving.. would you mind that?"

There was a time he wondered if she was capable of taking a life, but never had the opportunity to discuss it. He had long forgotten it, until now. She wanted not to harm others, he was sure in fear of turning out like her father. An understandable sentiment, but she was still in a battle that might push those limitations. He slid his hand down her arm to pull her hand into his,

"So long as you are not in danger, I will abide by your principals... but my Lady," His glance found the scraped floor, "There may come a time that not possible."

It felt like his spear found her gut. There had to be a way to avoid killing people. Even in her ten years of running, she was able to. The goal was to survive... killing Detainers was just an additional prospect to make it more interesting. "Can't we just... run away or something?"

Diarmuid cradled the back of his head. His question earlier of what she was capable of had definitely been answered. A slight hitch in their partnership. He had no qualms killing anyone, should it be necessary. Her life, and the destination his soul were to head to.. might depend on him making that decision. Running away would not entirely solve their problems, "What if we are backed in a corner and cannot retreat?"

She stood in frustration, almost banging her head against the counter top, "I- I don't know. Couldn't we think of something? You and I are smart, what if we gave them injuries or something that would hinder them useless?" She balled her hands into fists. No, she didn't want to kill people. She wouldn't.

His brows furrowed together at the agitation in her voice, and her sudden leap, "My Lady... It's not so-"

"No, come on. I know you're a damn murderer but-" She stiffened, her eyes darting to the man that she stunned silent. 

Haley crossed a line. She knew it the moment she vomited the words. The regretful woman felt the burn in her eyes and jammed them together, stomping off across the room before he could come up with a rebuttal.

A light forehead pinned itsel on the wall under her arm. That was so uncalled for, and she didn't mean it. His times were different, didn't she tell him that herself? She just... can't stand the idea of hurting people. This was not what she had signed up for. 

She agreed to support Diarmuid and fight other souls like him. Not living people who were desperately trying to save their friends, maybe family, lovers, or whatever!

Diarmuid's eyes narrowed, expression sour. That was not what he had been expecting, and it stung she would insult him so direly. "Haley... a Knight and a murderer are separate things, and I would appreciate it if you could see the difference..."

She knew the difference, and wasn't aiming to belittle his knighthood. If only he could understand that this was just difficult for her. "I'm sorry, Diarmuid. I really am. What I said was uncalled for..." She shook her head, "I didn't mean it. It's just... killing people is.. not me. You.. understand that... don't you?"

He did, quite well, actually. In that moment, he decided to cast aside how displeased he was with her hysterics. He had come to care and respect her well enough to know that it was out of character for her. The other nagging feeling was that maybe, his original opinion that she was in over her head, blossomed again.

"My Lady..." Diarmuid approached her, and propped his hand on her shoulder, "If it is too much, maybe we should consider a forfeit.."

It was as if someone took Haley’s heart and snapped it in half like a twig. Forfeit? That was his answer to all this? After everything they had been through? She whipped around with the complete intention of giving him a piece of her mind on the matter, but... The broken haze in his discolored eyes obstructed the hammering in her chest. 

Why, why did he have to look as vulnerable as she felt? She jabbed his sternum feebly with the back of her fist, and hung her head. "But then what happens to you?"

He tucked her hair behind her ear and offered her his gentlest smile, "I will meet my fate."

Stupid Diarmuid. Stupid tournament. She wrapped her arms around him and dug her face into him while shaking her head side to side, "Stupid.. Come on... don't say that. Not after everything we have been through."

"I am not sure what else to do, my Lady. The... rules of this tournament will not allow for us to keep our hands clean." The way she clutched him tighter pulled at his heart strings, but there was nothing he could do beside speak the truth she did not want to accept with ease in his tone, "I am but a Knight, I do not take killing lightly... However, I do what is needed, even if the result is death..." He gently gripped the sides of her arms and pushed her back to look her in her eyes when he spoke, "You, however, are not. I do not wish you to sully your honor. So if we must make that difficult decision to end our journey here, then so be it."

Her lip quivered under her teeth. This all sucked. Yeah, killing people wasn't what she signed up for, but Diarmuid was.. the question that stabbed her in the heart was if he was worth turning a blind eye to her own convictions. Her chin dipped, and she thumbed a stray tear away. They both fell silent. Only the sound of rain pattering on the rooftop accompanied by the roaring roll of thunder echoed in the cafe.

Diarmuid lifted her chin with the tip of his index finger, and wiped away the wetness from her cheekbones. He had not intended to for her cry, or for this conversation to become so heated. He only wished she understood what she would be up against, not feel whatever dread plagued her mind. 

If only he had attempted such a thing sooner, maybe she would not have hit her so hard, or might they not even be here. Even still, she needed to answer, however tough it might be, "My Lady, I know it to be a tough decision, but we do not have much time." His hand fell to his side, "I have no regrets, and have no qualms with whatever you decide."

Haley cursed, and gripped her arm.  _ No regrets, huh _ ? If only she could say the same. Killing others weighed on her, but it was to be expected with what she was participating in, right? Diarmuid's soul... lost in the abyss of torture because she gave up midway? Not by some other, unfortunate means? That would be a guilt she didn't think she could ever overcome. 

Even after she downright insulted him, all he cared about was her resolve, how she wanted to do things. It would be... an injustice letting him fall for her selfish reasons. She couldn't just forfeit, and have him eat the outcome of it while she returned to her pathetic life.

Given those thoughts, she finally came to grips with how much he meant to her. She was willing to sacrifice part of her ideals to save him because he was invaluable to her. When had she ever come to care for someone as deeply as she did him?

"Diarmuid, I could never abandon you... Just.." When his arms wrapped around her torso and his chin laid delicately on her head, she practically broke into pieces. It was never on her agenda, but deep inside the pits of her morality, she knew he was right. She could not easily admit it, and didn't think she would, not so soon, anyway. 

Still, the conflicted girl wanted to attempt, at any given chance, to avoid taking lives. At the same time, she would allow Diarmuid, even even herself, to do what was necessary if it ever came to it. "Just promise me you'll at least try? Try to find an outcome that won't result in needless death?"

Her devotion made his heart squirm, and he wanted her to understand he was worthy of it. Targeting innocence was not something he, nor other Knights, would take pleasure in. She had to have understood that, but he would dispel any doubt, 

"Even without promise, it is in a Knight's code to never kill needlessly," he met her glossy stare, begging him for reassurance, "But you have my word."

Haley muttered a thanks, while she leaned into his comfort. What else was going to challenge her resolve in this flipping tournament? She really hoped nothing else, because she was hesitant to believe that she could handle much more.

An unnatural shuffling of footsteps that interrupted the drumming of rain had Diarmuid reluctantly pulling away from the woman cradled in his arms. The hairs along his body began to prick, as the scuttling intensified above them. Crumbs of dust and foundation from the ceiling sprinkled into his eyes and trailed towards the mouth of the window. 

Diarmuid’s hands dipped into his pockets, to grip the handle of the knives which had blades hidden in their covers, as a single, soaked figure dropped from above.

The person teetered left and right, almost like a man who had too much to drink. Diarmuid's eyebrows knit together, as the person slumped over the window and collapsed onto the floor. He released the hilt, while another abruptly plummeted after, accompanied by three more. He spared a glance to his Master whose head tilted into her shoulder and raised his index finger to his lips. He then slowly inched his way over to their bag.

_ Master, do not say a word. Those... are not people. Come very slowly, and quietly, over to my side. _

_ What are they...? _ She thought back to him, sliding along the wall.

_ Undead. They are tortured souls trapped in their rotting corpses. They cannot see, but their hearing and sense of smell is impeccable. Their hunger to multiply is great. I had encountered them only once before in Hell's Lobby. I was lucky to have evaded them, or else I would be what you see before you. _ He slipped her the bag and slouched for her, eyes pinned to the staggering, inhuman persons.

_ How do they multiply...? _ Haley asked, adjusting herself onto his back.

_ When they inflict a deep enough wounds, a piece of their essence mixes in their victims, slowly corroding their bodies and corrupting them. _ He sunk to his knees, and took very tiny steps in the opposite direction of the beings that meandered towards them.

_ What... happens to your soul, if you are defeated in that form? _

_ My spirit.. would cease to exist... _ He was unsure which was worse; being internally tortured while starving to multiply as a last ditch effort to preserve oneself in insanity. Or to be tortured for all eternity. At least one had some sort of peace, though no longer existing felt... harsh. Just one of the many ways the Universe punished evil spirits. It was unfathomable how tainted he had become in his final moments.

It was also best not to think about such things.

Haley gripped him tightly, as he crawled across the upturned debris. She didn't want to discuss any further the possibilities of those.. walking evils.

They paused behind an overturned wooden table, as one fumbled around the corner, and paused. Its head snapped in every direction, cracking bone as it did. The tattered portion of the pant leg brushed against Haley's shoulder and she flinched. The sniffing sound that escaped the eerily still body, had her breath tranquilized. It took a wobbled step forward, and its head spun to them. Empty eye sockets, and a wet mouth agape faced them with a hiss.

Did it... sense them?

A glass whizzed past from outside, and shattered right before them. Diarmuid immediately broke the leg off the table and stabbed it through the dropped jaw of the undead that lunged for them. Shit. An enemy must be nearby as well. He sprinted, and maneuvered his way through the swarm of undead that erupted after them in a frenzy.

The adjacent window collapsed, spewing shards of glass from Diarmuid's crash. Water licked his skin, as he rolled through the puddle and rain. The sound of screeching scurrying behind them. 

Diarmuid would not worry about his hidden enemy—for it would be stupid for them to reveal themselves. Rain slanted past them, as he mustered his speed to get across the acres of rotting vehicles to reach the flooding under the bridge. If he could submerge themselves in the water, he needn't worry of their attack since they could not swim.

The problem was getting there. The slanted and corroded buildings leaked more undead that answered their screeching call, causing them to swarm like bees. The knives in his pockets were not enough - He could only dodge their onslaught. As more lined in the very direction they were headed towards - even that seemed highly unlikely.

He hurdled over them and Haley really wished she could use her ability to keep these things at bay. There was no way they would make it to the bridge in time. Not before at least one these creatures harmed them. Their best bet was to race to one of the obstructed buildings to strike them down and barricade themselves inside it.

Raising his foot to meet the belly of another Undead, Diarmuid caught another by the arm and swung the light body into the two that scrambled for him. She was right, if they were to continue like this, they would never make it to the bridge. He was worried there might be more lurking in the buildings, but felt it easier to fight the minimal numbers there than the steadily increasing flow of undead here.

He darted, blinking away the droplets of rain that threatened his eyesight. Maneuvering cleanly through the barrage of undead bodies that attempted to block his progression. He was glad they at least were not as fast as himself, but they easily could catch up if he were to hesitate.

"Holy shi- Diarmuid, there, there! We can slip in!" Diarmuid followed her hastily wagging finger to a window in the alley way. It was low, almost leveled with the ground on the side of the brick wall.

Diarmuid rapidly pried the window open, while the mob of undead flailed closer. Haley swung herself inside, and he tossed the bag in after, following suit. They dropped into a basement that aside from the poles, rotting flesh of deceased carcasses and cabinets, was empty. After immediately closing the window, that the undead slapped and rammed into, they both scurried to the staircase that curved upwards to the level above.

They reached the door, glass bursting following behind them. Thankfully it wasn't locked and they rushed through, Diarmuid snapping it shut behind them. He went to turn to find anything to create a blockade with- when the door frizzled, and burned shut along the edges. What...

"Diar-" The sound of Haley calling his name had him twirling right into a string of fire leveled right underneath his - and Haley's - throats.


	23. Nutcases

The fire snapped like a snake and coiled around them both, burning their backs together in a hiss. The ring of fire tightened every lap it made around their torsos, melting through skin and fabric. The air stunk of charring clothes.

"Seriously... you bring the Undead here?" The woman soul said, clearly frustrated by the stern tone she held, "How reckless can you be?"

"Can't uh, say it was on purpose." Haley groaned, attempting to remain as still as possible to not further the dig of flame into her body. 

She shook her head, "Clearly." 

The banging on the steel door intensified and Diarmuid turned his face to his enemy, or rather, enemies, behind him. Two, astonishingly beautiful women stood steps away. The woman with medium hair as scarlet as the blaze she commanded, speared them with her aquatic eyes. The woman behind her cringed, barely in view. Both had noticeable lacerations all along their bodies, that were barely held together by torn clothing and bandages... 

Opportunity rang the dinner bell, and while he'd rather not use his mole for its intended purpose, enemies were enemies. Diarmuid dipped his face, so the mole would be entirely in their view, "Might we discuss this later? I fear our end to be near, should we not flee."

The woman sucked her pointed teeth, while her middle finger and thumb slid across one another in a loud snap. Bright oranges and reds danced along the side of the woman's body and shot across the distance, sliding into the cracks of the door. The Undead screeched behind it, and the pounding turned to scrambling that got lost in the snapping and crackling of an inferno behind it.

Stepping closer to the moronic duo in front of her, she debated ending them now, or after some of her fiery work... But It would be too devastating to blaze that alluring face she stroked with her finger tip. The ratchet girl on the other hand... 

"Wow, you're pretty." The fiery woman's eyes slanted to her Detainer, who pulled at the sleeves of the man's jumpsuit, "Kenna, can we keep him?"

 _What the F-?_ Disbelief slapped Haley's wide eyes as her head flung to the Detainer that at first trembled behind her Forsaken, now clung to Diarmuid like a lost puppy.

Something dark flickered behind the young woman's auburn eyes. She looked no older than a teenager, not with those large eyes, dainty hands, and small figure. Goosebumps traveled down Haley's neck as the blistering hot gaze of the girl sized them up like their next meal. 

_Diarmuid, please tell me you have a plan before we melt or something._ She thought to him, wincing from blistering skin under the further sinking rope of tiny wildfire.

 _I do.. forgive me if this displeases you._ He offered his most flattering smile to the flickering pair of eyes planted on him, "Ladies, should you release me, those terms could be negotiable." 

Kenna's finger trailed down his neck to the collar of his jumpsuit. Her talon-like nail tore the hem of his caller, dragging down the slow bearing of his chest from her finger tip. If only the Forsaken knew what offering himself to her meant. "I could.. release you." She muttered in a seductive whisper, as she grazed her lips against his. Her heart was barely a flutter, as she imagined what she would do to this man with her flames. "What are you thinking?"

"My Detainer lives, and I am yours. It would not bode well for you if she dies, and my soul is stripped as the result, yes?"

Haley eyes shot to the cracked ceiling. Her ears were playing tricks on her. Was he really offering himself to these women? Did they even buy it? She caught when the woman brazenly swept her lips across Diarmuid's, and he didn't even flinch. All the while she felt heat filling her cheeks, and it wasn't from the fire carving lines into her skin. Was his reaction him showing his approval of her advances to convince her he was interested? _Was_ he? Oh dear lord, she needed water.

Her heart stammered in her chest. _Decisions, decisions._ The Forsaken was so magnetic. His right eye matched her dancing infernos, his hair swayed like brush fire being carried by the wind, the bare skin under his jumpsuit that revealed the lining of a scar that Kenna assumed grew under the untorn fabric... What else was he hiding under their matching attire? 

Daring to find out, (and char her own personal ravages to his ligaments...) she smirked, "Oh darling, I cannot resist," she wet her lips with a roll of her tongue, "But your ugly little Detainer leaves. Since you belong to us and all." 

"You know, I'd say go to hell, but technically you're already on your way there, so..." Haley scowled and the back of Diarmuid's ankle clucked against her own. The reflex had her jerk against the restraints and resisted dramatically to not just mentally break them apart. The embers burned cooler, but were still steadily nipping away at the barriers between skin and muscle. 

"Ohh, did you see that, Kenna? He is already on our side!" The young ladies hands clasped together, while almost leaping completely out of her track shoes.

 _Yeah, that's what that was. Keep thinking that... freggin nutcases._ Haley thought to herself, and Diarmuid's laugh erupted in her thoughts. _Oops,_ did she just share that with him by accident? 

"I can agree to those terms." Diarmuid said hastily, taking opportunity where it allowed from the young ladies outburst. It was rather shameful to take advantage of women who have lost the will to fight because of his face, but it was all to save his Master, so he used the means at his disposal. 

The black, frilly haired girl's small lips curled up with pure mischief, "I cannot wait to see, and hear the pain exit your pretty lips!"

The whip of flame unraveled, and then shot like a snake and restrung itself around Diarmuid's waste from the woman's right hand, binding him once again. He winced with a hiss, as the fire licked his curled, tender flesh. He prolonged his soul long enough for her do whatever twisted things her imagination come up with. He surveyed the lobby for additional strategies, and came up with a plan for each, should any of them follow. 

A second flaming rope unraveled from Kenna's left hand and it curled around Haley once more while she released a sharp, sibilant sound. She raised into the air and was tossed to the stair case being swallowed by greenery with pure fineness. She sucked her teeth, and pushed off the leafage. She was to leave Diarmuid alone with the psychopaths, who were shaving away the material of his jumpsuit. 

She nestled her lower lip with her top teeth, and turned away to scurry to the second floor floor of the complex. She had to trust his plan. Doing so has worked out for them thus far. She only hoped he wouldnt be an ash tray by the end of it.

\-------------------------------------------

An honorable fight, was all he wanted in his summoning, and possible here, all of which still not possible, it seemed. Only against the Hosts had he settled would such a fight be possible, and that felt even to be a stretch. He had not forgotten to where he was, and of course understood it would take a part in the opponents he would face but this...

A woman taking joy in melting the victims she blazed, and a little girl who enjoyed watching and having it ravishing her was mind boggling. She insisted to be taken first, but the Kenna woman refused for there were still five days to survive hear before any healing could be done. Which of the two were more susceptible? The naively smitten one, or the blazing one who was merely lusting over his despair under her flames? 

It was all too maddening. Now that his Master was at a safe distance he could- 

Taking the blaze into his bare skin, he flattened himself into the distorted flooring to avoid an arrow that zipped past his person into the leg of the pouting girl. He cringed as the flurrying fire burned hotter from his retreat, and was aggravated the lasso only stretched longer, than bringing the wielder with him. 

Susie yanked the projectile from her thigh and examined her blood on the tip with a grin, "Ohh, that felt nice! Do you have more, mis enemy?"

Tch, her Detainer was a lovely pain. Kenna figured there were others hiding in his apartment tower, and got distracted by the handsome Forsaken. Her eyes became slits as she fanned her fire in a wave towards the direction the arrow slung from. 

The main desk at the center was seared with red, and the metal crunched while being hurtled towards them, and with two fingers signalling her flame, it sliced the material in half. A barrage of arrows came soon after, and was nothing she was frightened of. The joke of a battle shriveled underneath her flame and out of the smoke leaped a woman, bow aiming for her Detainer. Palms up, the smoke reformed into an inferno around her.

Her melodic screams enchanted her ears, and she tried to get a glimpse of the woman's Detainer. They were an easy enemy to eliminate now that her Forsaken was like a melting pot on the tile. She returned her attention to the Forsaken that vowed himself to her to get his assistance when her eyes widened.

A slit throat smiled back at her, as a man's quivering hand dropped Susie from his sausage like fingers. Where the hell was that buffoon hiding to have ambushed them like this?! Before that ugly, bearded man could run - Before she would collapse from her limbs that tensed with tightness as the light left her Detainer's eyes - she stabbed through his hanging belly with the fire rope, letting it devour his body with a burning flare.

When the man's invisibility shimmered away when the opening drew him towards the exposed Detainer, Diarmuid dug his hand into his pocket and drew out his only weapon. AS the events unfolded before him, his knife sealed the final strike through her back and out the front of her chest. Jaded, blue eyes turned back to him, when he pulled the weapon from her, "I answer to only one woman. To her I will serve my loyalty, and no other. I am sorry to have deceived you." 

The woman's eyes slanted, then glimpsed only the floor with blankness. He raised his stare to the fallen enemies that aided in his survival in front of him. The one's screams halted the moment he dug his weapon into the one responsible for her suffering. He observed them previously, as they readied their weapons. He assumed they didn't strike prior because they were waiting for himself and his Master to meet their end, first. A wise strategy, he supposed, since two against 4 would of have been disastrous. 

He felt lucky his intuition turned out to be true, for it weren't, things would not have turned out as they did. Assuming Haley's retreat made their pursuit not worthwhile, being it would reveal their location, they seemingly targeted the girl. If only they knew she was a heretic who was pleasured by the pain inflicted upon her. In their skirmish, the flames around him fell, and Diarmuid only made sure they would not return by finishing the Kenna woman.

Shaking his head and stepping past the rotting, melting flesh that burned his nose, Diarmuid went to where he discerned his Master's location. All the while, over his shoulder, he heard the gliding flow of Shadows vacuuming their victims souls and refused to look back.

\----------------------------------------------

With magic writhing to heal the burns and torn flesh, Haley dug her nails into her palms. The wounds itched, and pained her beyond belief. She ducked into one of this building's studio apartments. The halls were lined with more of those undead, and with no defense against them with Diarmuid being away.. She could only hide behind the crushed bed like a little girl.

She glanced at her left hand, the red seal still lingering. She wondered if Diarmuid were to be defeated - if it would disappear like it would in a grail war. She swallowed, covering the mark with her right hand. Peering at the watch that fitted around her wrist, she thought of an idea,

"Sponsors, if youre watching, do you have something for the burns?" Haley said to the cameras she were sure lingered somewhere around here. Like God answering a prayer, the air shimmered and a box labelled, "first aid" with a little red plus sign dropped from the space. She dragged the box and emptied its contents and was surprised there were more than just something for the burns. Bandages, rags, medicines, and other fancy medical things layered the medium sized treasure box. 

She pulled off her short sleeved shirt, leveled her bra straps off the burns on her arms, and lowered her jeans to her knees to expose her wounds. She was thankful that they had not stuck to the swelling, and were instead split where the ring of embers dug. Remembering what she read in medical books for burn treatment, she dampened the cloth with one of the water bottles in the duffel bag she had and applied it to the blistering and swelling lines along her body. 

The sting was immeasurably, but she wrapped her arms, chest, torso, and top of her thighs in the bandages, thankful that the duffel bag protected parts of her back and lower area. The control that woman had, she had not seen anything like it. A sigh escaped her lips, and just as she was to call to Diarmuid in her mind, she heard the door snap shut and clenched her fists at her side. She was not in the condition for anyone to-

"My Lady...?" Diarmuid's head popped around the bed, and she heaved with relief. She almost laughed when he immediately turned away from her revealing body, and swore she saw his cheeks flush, "Sorry, I had not meant to see you undressed." He immediately tried to rectify the situation that wasn't even one, and she giggled. Her stare then rested on the wounds he was inflicted as well.

She lost herself a little in them, thinking back to when she had first received burns as bad as they had now. Never a pleasant memory when thinking of her father, anymore. If she were to be the best healer imaginable, it was necessary to knew how to repair any sort of injury. Burns included, and of course the best way to know them fully, was to experience it herself. Those days, laying in bed in agony, barely able to see through the crust of her eyelids, unable to move without feeling her charred skin would collapse... The screams that escaped her lips when they doused her in water much too cold..

There was a silence that progressed longer than usual, and Diarmuid braved a glance over his shoulder. She had that pale look he remembered stained her features when she was lost in her past. Swallowing his pride, he completely faced her - but made sure his stare remained at eye level - and knelt to place a hand on her shoulder, "Lady Haley," it was if she was snapped back into reality by his voice, "I am here, if you wish you to speak of it."

She shook her head, and pat her cheeks with her palms, "Sorry. No, that's okay, I mean, I'm fine." She lifted the straps of her bra over her shoulder to prevent anymore things revealing their selves to him, "But I should treat your wounds, too." 

His nod signaled his approval, his glance averted once more and his eyes closed to avoid any accidents. She, on the other hand, held her stare on his scorched, yet beautiful body. The line of his chest was peeking at her from the strip the woman had made in the center of his jumpsuit down to the center of his midsection. Gulping at the thoughts plaguing her wandering mind, she unbuttoned the jumpsuit down to his crotch and he slid out of the long sleeves. Gorgeous, elevated pectoral muscles followed by the bumps of trained abdominal muscles sung to her. The outline of his v peeped mischievously as her from where the jumpsuit folded over his pants line. 

Despite the mural that was his body, her curiosity of what lay a bit further down where the clothes folded over - and the burns that needed attention - a firm line called her attention to it on his upper left side of his chest.. Her nervous hand gently grazed the edge of her finger tips against the mark. _This was where he..._

She didn't know what came over her, but before she knew it - her eyes closed, and her lips tapped the scar. She pulled away almost immediately, feeling heat raise to her ears. She studied the raggedy rug under her knees, and hoped he was not angry with such an impulsive - and careless - action. She just couldn't help herself, when that fate altering gash is what placed his heart in such turmoil. 

However, when she looked up at him through her lashes, his smile was warm and welcoming, and tinged with surprise,

"I don't.. believe that to be a wound necessary of mending, my lady." He said with a playful chuckle. Her delicate kiss did wonderful things to his insides. What was the term they called it? Butterflies? He almost looked to her to express his thanks, but... that would be.. inappropriate, no? 

That delightful tug at her lips made her heart flutter, but the blemish under the burn strips across his belly that almost led right to the fatal wound from Gae Dearg sung to her next. His life, just like her own, did not treat him fairly. Every elaborate blemish that carved into him was proof of that. In a way, she was oddly jealous of it. His scars were proof of his life... The one thing she despised most about her body was its perfection. With every healing they had done... there was not trace of the cruelties she endured. Part of why she never went to anyone for help.. who would believe a girl was tortured when everything about her suggested otherwise?

"Did.. I say something wrong, my Lady?" Diarmuid asked her, his eyes still pressed shut, since he had decided it was best not to react oddly to her original gesture. She was simply expressing her concern for his past, nothing more... 

She shook her head quickly,

 _Snap out of it, Haley._ She scolded herself, "No, it's not you. I keep losing myself in thought. Sorry." 

Sighing, she applied the same medical treatment to him as she did herself, thankful he didn't receive any further damage in the quick moments leading him to her once again. Once she was finished, and they both looked like mummies from the ancient crypt, they reapplied their burnt clothes and debated what to do next.

Diarmuid and his bright ideas thought to ask the sponsors for the weapon she bought, since she was awarded the medical supplies doing the same thing. Aggravated she didn't think of that, the sword appeared, but with a note stating only Diarmuid to be allowed to use it. She did not care, it was _something_ against the many issues they were facing already in the Arena. She almost tossed the note when Diarmuid pointed out that the symbol on it was different than the one on the supply kit they got. That was.. two out of the three sponsors that helped them, then? 

The hard rain ceased to a mere drizzle, and light flooded the cracked window. They shuffled through the room to the broken down apartment, to find anything useful. Besides broken tables, open drawers and the scattering of clothes and garbage, it seemed to have already been looted. Possibly by the previous competitors, or just the look the Arena's were going for when replicating a plague stricken city. 

Disappointed the water bucket they had was dreadfully gone, she squeaked open the door to see if those undead still lingered outside. To her dismay, they definitely did. Was it even possible to defeat those things? The woman prior, - that Diarmuid informed her of what happened when they were scoping out the apartment - was able to scare them away with fire. But they didn't have anything of the sort. 

Closing the door, they were trapped like little rats in a maze of buildings, Undead, and other competitors. Deciding that jumping out the window into the unknown was probably a bad idea given their condition, they barricaded themselves in the small apartment. Survive, that was their only goal. Not seeking out enemies to dwindle numbers, or to rack up some rewards that were not worth the lives of people. 

Haley fixed one of the beds and rested, while Diarmuid remained watch. He kept his attention glued to the windows, to view anything going on outside, and the door they lined with furniture of the apartment. Sometimes, his worry strained upward, as the sound of trampling and items crashing traveled along the ceiling. Enemies, perhaps. He half expected the upper walls to cave in, and half expected to see bodies sailing down past the window.

Few hours past, and the only thing that shed light in the room was the full moon spying on them from the sky. The cries of the Undead were accompanied by other creatures. The howling of wolves was one he recognized, and when he once found it a melody - it was now a warning that they very well could come after them. 

The chambers flickered. Or did he imagine that...? Diarmuid cautiously walked over to where his master slept and gripped the sword's hilt tightly in his hand. It happened again. The tint of blue in the room from the outside light had definitely pulsed and darkened the room. There was.. an eerie feeling coursing through his veins. The sound of his master tussling in the sheets temporarily shifted his worry to her, but realized she was just propping herself up.

"What... is that?" She said, staring straight at the wall across from her. He followed her line of vision and stiffened. 

Along the wall was a silhouette. It was a twisted, dark shade that cast over them. A demon that lives only in the shadows of the night, another plague of the Underworld. Diarmuid was baffled the Hosts were able to control not only the Shadows that descended their souls, _and_ the Undead, but the demons as well? Or were these trials in the Arena just replicas? In the end, it did mattered not. They were defenseless against such things yet again. The sword would work against the Undead should they decapitate them, but the demons were of another caliber.

Escape was not possible, there only way out was either dismantling their piles in front of the door, or striking through the window to bring unnecessary attention to themselves by _other_ creatures of the night. Understanding their low chances, he raised the tip of the sword, ready for the Demonic thing to strike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am thinking of making these chapters of the 6 days survival ring relatively short. As much as I want to put as much detail into the fights, and into the challenges they are going to be facing the next few chapters- I also don't want to bore anyone with the dragging on of the story (Hopefully no one feels that way). Tell me what you think of the chapter or story thus far! I love reading feedback, and hope there are readers that have stuck around this far!


	24. Inner Demons

The demon slipped from the wall. In a stream of black faded light, it aimed directly for the woman behind Diarmuid. He slashed the long blade downward, slicing through the Demonic air. His burns ached from the sudden movement, but the result was worthy of it. The Black strip broke apart with a clean line and circled back together. 

A simple test of the weapon's strength, led him to believe it _was_ capable of damaging it. That were enough, and he lunged to the blanket of darkness. The figure stood from the floor to the ceiling in the tight space. The block of darkness stretched left to block him, but he still aimed his attack at the center of it. 

A round hole expanded right before he struck, and his blade went through. The black formation hardened in response, trapping his arm inside the texture of the demon. The thin, dark shape thickened into a solid spreading up his arm. A pained yelp bounced off the walls as it forced its way to his shoulder. The upper half of the shadow's length bent over him as if interested in something... or someone else.

The beam of darkness that was sucking Diarmuid into itself spread to Haley like elastic. She rolled off the bed all the while the wall behind her crushed under the demon's impact. Back hard pressed against the corner of the apartment's structure, her eyes wandered the room for a place to escape the demon. She honestly thought the window was her best bet, but since she couldn't use her abilities to slow her fall... she worried the landing would break a bone or two.

All she could do was watch as Diarmuid struggled against the tower of darkness. She saw that its form slowly worked its way up and past his elbows melting his orange sleeve. His jerking and kicking of the metal like sheet of blackness rung, but his release from the monster didn't come.

The demon strip bent once again and his master ducked. She shot forward to the pile of furniture at the door. Diarmuid shuffled the handle of the sword, maneuvering his fingers so he could flip the sword upside down instead of pointed straight. When the blade angled to the floor, he flicked his wrist downward so the blade would angle upward into the body of the beast. 

It broke through the skin that sizzled, accompanied by steam from the razor edge. He felt the release of his arm just slight enough to yank it free from the bellowing creature. He hadn't hesitated, once free he instantly struck again, hacking away in a furry of over and underhand strikes. The irregular shape of the form rescinded backwards into the full strip of blackness in front of him. 

He thew himself on his back to avoid the accompanied strike and jabbed the pointy edge upward to slice the belly of the strip. Black ooze dripped from the break he made, grilling his cheek and shoulder. Wheeling out from underneath it, he brought himself back on to his feet. His eyes actively searched for the core of it. If he could strike it there he was sure it would be defeated. 

The sword raised in his palms, stabbing every which way he could muster. The different shapes the blob of blackness began taking to avoid his beats were testing his patience. Each different way it swayed, he had drifted to block or nab the thing. The broken skin on his face, the exposed arm tattooed with its ooze from his wrist to the shoulder all drummed from the air whipped up in his agility. 

Still, there was more he could do. _Had to be._ He has only been successful in breaking the cursed being apart only for it to form again. Every opportunity to get a read on its composition failed to leave any hints on the base of it that would accept a fatal blow. He pinched his eyes in to slants, detecting a glimmer when the tail end of it touched the floor. A peculiar speck simmered first, and the demon's extension of darkness flowed from it just a second before the dot disappeared. 

His fingers flexed against the hilt of the sword. He drove the end at the dark presence's lower half while it jerked to where he once stood. Success was in the shrill sound that exited the nothingness that when he trailed his blade down the backside to the hidden, tiny blotch. The mark leaked a strip that illuminated the darkness a menacing yellow upward to the top half. 

A sinister moaning began thudding against the apartment door. It was if they answered the battle taking place in the room. The wail the monster made only furthering their pounding. This time, they did not have a fire manipulator to burn the dead away. Haley felt the tower of housewares convulse from the repeated force against the door that only thrummed louder. 

Curling its top half backwards - since the bottom half was glued in place from Diarmuid's sword - the demon's flat shape transformed into a gaping mouth layered with teeth and drool. Spinning on his heels to avoid the mouth of the beast, he dragged the sword's blade from the little circle upward along the yellow strip. Actual blood sprayed from the gash he created, causing the rectangular outline of the demon to wrench its body free from his sword and shrink into a blob.

It zipped away much faster from Diarmuid's incoming attack, and smashed through the material of the door. Haley pushed off their blockage, avoiding the sticks and wood that fell from it,

"Shit!" 

Her voice caught the blob above her's attention, and it flung downward. Caught between the Undead that sliced their soft, deteriorating flesh pushing through the wreckage of the door, and the demon aiming for his Master's head, Diarmuid chose to nab Haley's arm and toss her across the room. To his utter shock, the demon adjusted its trajectory mid air, as if expecting his decision and flew through the apartment.

Haley barely took a step before the dusky figure entered her body. The translucent demon flooded her build, stretched to copy her shape and manipulated her muscles. Her vision flickered between complete darkness and the horror that painted Diarmuid's expression, and tense body. 

Like a puppet and the Demon the string master, she lunged for Diarmuid. He nimbly escaped her, but she felt her magic flare, her movement being amplified by it to easily knock right into him. They scuffled, ragged carpet scratching her as they numerously switched place on who dominated who. Feeling the strength in her core increase yet again from the demon's command to her sorcery, her dainty hands pinned his wrists above his head. 

Wrestling the sword from his tight grip, she level the blade's tip at the lump in his throat. Every fiber of her being begged her to stop. The stress in her limbs cried to do something other than shake above the man she cherished with a weapon that could end him. He constantly asked her to break free from the demon, to regain herself before she made a costly strike. 

Her stomach crushed under a sharp jerk of knees, while her arm holding the sword snapped behind her back. Diarmuid's bulk outlined her as his voice filled her ears with reassurance she could beat the demon. He attempted to pry the weapon from her hands, but the extra strength she held refused to further his upper hand.

Her thoughts were a fog, just like the blur of her sight. She registered the long, low sounds of the Undead while Diarmuid's voice began to be drowned out by a strange pull to her mind. Whispers softly cooed her to drive the silver into his pregnable flesh. Her thoughts easily pushed the nasty instruction away. Its deception was nothing against the control she had in her own head. Her bodies reckless motions were what strained all her strength. 

The threats outside the apartment flopped down from the gash in the wall. Diarmuid finally unarmed his master in a skillful swoop. He raised his foot to her back, and her light frame easily smacked the wall across from him. All the while, he twisted to slide the head off the body of the Undead that replaced where Haley once stood. This was incredibly horrific, an undesirable turn of events. There were too many variables that ended in his Master's death. 

The answer to his predicament, despite the foul precedent, was to forcefully drive the demon out. His sword angled towards the woman he cared deeply for and wedged the blade into her thigh. His knee planted directly itself right under her ribs dropping her to the floor with a gasp.

More of those Undead spilled from the crack in the door and a couple were layered with orange. Sick to his stomach, he leveled the blade with their throats and beheaded them with ease, maintaining his peripheral view of his Master fighting herself against the monster inside her. 

Abruptly smashing her head into the frame of the bed, and digging her fingers into the hole in her thigh, Haley battled the torment her body was sufficing. Every limb struggled against which consciousness to listen to. She forced her ligaments to obey her, just as quickly as the demon took them back. Thoughts leaked into her own, to end the man who easily stabbed her. Images of her past twisted in the form of Diarmuid being the perpetrator.

Her own voice swirled in her head, trying to tarnish her image of him. It broke apart the friendship they built. It amplified that moment he strangled her and thrust her against the hotel's wall. It did anything it could to make her believe never cared for her, that he was only using her to save himself. If their situation called for it, he'd toss her away, or hurt her like he did her knee, or in the hotel, to accomplish his goals. She meant nothing to him, and she should just forget him, waste him, before it was too late.

The string of bad thoughts continued to loop over and over, and Haley had enough of it. She stood and smacked her herself against the wall with as much force she could muster. _Everything you're saying is.. B--S...! Diarmuid is... precious to me, and would never do those things!_ She slapped her back against the bunk again, and again, _So get the _hell_ out!_

Haley's thoughts reverberated with Diarmuid's. They were no longer guarded under the swirling personas. He swiped another undead and swiftly spun himself back to her. With her form in full view, he jabbed the sword at the corner of her torso, where there were no vital organs. He would skewer the damn Demon. That vile creature was attempting to vanquish the trust she held for him, the _attachment_ he held so dear. 

"Remove yourself, demon! Or I will kill you along with her, if it is means to save her!" He lied. He could never. He hoped in some way she caught on by where he stabbed, or allow him to explain if he was successful in extricating it. 

With each passing second, their desperate situation grew worse. She kicked at him, swatted at him, showing no signs of victory against its pull. His gut wrenched. If this continued... the only way to truly help her would actually be her _death_. That outcome gripped his jack hammering heart. She considered him _precious_. Had he not thought the same of her? His chest clenching, he knew he treasured her. Above all else. 

Slowly, he dragged the blade right, threatening critical damage. Her body thrashed about, leaking her fluid in a puddle at his feet, "My Lady.. fight it before I... really have to." Diarmuid sank his forehead to hers and his right hand cupped her cheek. Seeing her like this was crushing his soul for reasons his chest pained him for. Her struggle against the menacing thing worried him he would fail to save the woman he had come to be so fond of.

His eyes pleaded with her glowering, darkened ones, "Please Haley, our journey cannot end here... Not before.." His face tilted, so close their breaths mingled together. If it would break her mind out of it.. He was a damned fool, but.. 

She felt the demon's pull slipping. Like hell, she would lose to thing and leave his soul to the disastrous outcome that would be his fate should she die. The way his eyes bore into her and how he lowered his mouth - Her body shot out the window seconds before, the blade cleanly sliding out her side from the motion.

Glass erupted, and she was gone. He cursed, jabbing his fist into the wall. Reality sunk in, like feet in the sand. He failed. He couldn't save her. Gritting his teeth, he turned to the piling of undead that waited for him.

\-------------------------------------------

Telekinesis coupled with enhancement magic lopped her far into the trees that surrounded the city, rustling from her plummeting. She hit a sizzling line, coupled by others and her blood decorated the rattling leaves and silver threads.

Just as she fell through, face palming the grass and dirt with her face, the demon exited her with her own final push. The block of transparent darkness mangled with the shimmering threads and in its craze, got further entangled into the sharp netting. Its body began to shred like cheese in a grader under the crisscrossing, silver wire gripped by reds and skin. 

Haley rolled onto her back with a long groan. The lacework could have severed her body like it did the demon, but thankfully, her fall dropped her through the openings. She lifted her quivering hand to inspect if the red seal was still there. It was, and the back of her hand slapped the grass. The thud burned her limbs with agony, and her mind still struggled fix itself.. Why... why was she so helpless against that thing? 

Her control over her psyche.. it was slipping. When had she become so weak? She was sure, _sure_ that she would be able to fend something like that off given the strenuous training she did to be void of such monstrosities. But it was only Diarmuid's desperation that leveled her in the end. So what the hell? 

Voices being carried by the trees interrupted her mental call to him, and she dragged herself near the bushes. A pair of competitors pushed back branches and stared up at the maimed demon in the web. She sucked in a breath, hoping they would not see or hear her. 

"What is that?" The male in the duo asked, his finger stroking the fuzz on his chin. 

"A demon contortion. They're demons that feed off the souls of the Underworld by possessing them." A woman's voice calmly stated. She pulled at her lengthy white hair and the webs hummed in response. The maze of string spun the blood and body pieces away, shimmering to blend in to the dark green trees once again. "At least we know my defenses are effective." 

The man scratched at the back of his nape, "Yeah, wonder where it came from, though? It's not like we were here for it to target us." 

The woman jerked her thumb to the corner of the bushes, "Was probably after the girl that's hiding there. Your orders?"

The man's teal eyes blinked in a flutter, his mouth dropping. There was a girl? He parted his Forsaken from himself and glimpsed the hiding chick under the shrubs. "Oh shit."

Haley quickly smeared the blood that spilled from the cracks in her arms to cover the command seal on her hand. She held the torn skin on her waist from the sword's blade to make it seem like the crimson color was because of the wound she gripped steadily. Something she should of been doing prior to stop the bleeding, but was still coming to grips with regaining control of herself. 

The man leaned over to examine the woman sprawled across the grass. She was covered in lacerations - most likely from Armenia's webs - and from whatever stabbed her in the gut. She was also wrapped in bandages from the shoulders down to her wrists, and he assumed there were more under her clothes. His eyes shifted around the area, and it didn't seem like she was accompanied by anyone... well, besides the demon she brought along with her. 

He dug is his hands into his trouser's pockets, "You look like shit." 

Sitting up, and wincing from the toll her body has taken these past few hours, Haley nodded, "You said it." She looked between the slightly taller guy, with peach fuzz from his chin up to his cheeks, and short cut hair that pricked slightly at the top. He was joined by a woman in the Arena's famous orange jumper, whose white hair was so long it reached past her buttocks. Her face was emotionless, as her gold eyes seem to puncture her. "Myyyyy.... Forsaken died protecting me. So uh... don't kill me..?"

"That is my Detainer's choice. A choice that I am waiting to hear since I asked what his orders were moments ago." Armenia slanted her gaze at him, and he nudged his chin with the tip of his thumb. 

The girl's crystal blue eyes shifted to him. He examined her again, trying to get a read on her, but couldn't. He worked through her thoughts, but met cinder blocks instead, "Aren't you the girl who sunk that entire ship with her mind?" Her face froze, and a smile tugged at his lips, "Thought so," Tugging his sleeves down on both wrists, as if pampering himself, he exchanged a look with Armenia, "Don't know how _you_ were defeated..." 

"Egan, an order, please." Armenia urged him on. 

"I am getting to it, I am getting to it," Egan repeated, as he looked up at the forest canopy to emphasize his words, then realigned them with the girl's hands. There were no command seals that he could _see_ but the bloody hand could be hiding something. He didn't think the woman strong enough to sink an entire ship would be cowering before him if her Forsaken was actually dead, dead. Still, he assumed it was survival wits that pushed her to lie. So he decided the smart girl deserved a chance, 

"Tell ya what," He lowered himself onto his knees to be at eye level with the girl, "You teach me how to block my mind like yours is, and we let you go. Fair trade, right?" He cast his gaze to his woman who folded her arms across her massive chest, "Right?"

Haley looked between the black haired man and the white haired woman who turned her head, as if uninterested in answering him. His intentions were honest, at least. She leaned back, and sucked her teeth, "Yeah, that's a deal, but only if you wait until this round is over."

He rose his eyebrows, "I don't think you are in the place to negotiate." He stretched out his hand and swiped the markings on her left hand to reveal the seal, "Especially since you're still in the game."

She reeled her hand under the palm of her other in a snap when he revealed the mark. She thought hiding it would be a good idea. All it did was just raise the guy's suspicions. He seemed young, maybe in his twenties, but he was probably sharper than she thought. He did notice the block on her mind somehow, and somehow figured out she wasn't entirely truthful.. 

She heard his friend snicker. In a rush, she tried to think of another way to convince him to wait until the match was over to guarantee her safety, 

"Fine, he is elsewhere but.." Think, she had to think, "But even if I were to help you, it would require using magic that might lead the watchers of the Arena to think I am fighting against you... something they would kill me for." 

Egan stood up contemplating the words of the girl. _That_ might be true. What kind of magic did this girl use that would make the hosts wonder? "How would you show me?"

Haley shook her head, "I'm not giving away my secrets. I've done enough of that already." 

Closing his eyes and sighing outwardly, Egan thought about what to do. To be able to keep his mind free like that would be invaluable for the dealings he has in the outside world. Only, the problem is whether or not this girl could be trusted. Yeah, she might of cleverly hid the seal to preserve herself, but what happens if her friend shows up? He really wasn't sure what he was capable of. "What of your Forsaken? If we wait around, he might come after me." 

Pressuring the open wound on her side, Haley leveled her stare with the fellow who had plenty of reasons to worry. With earnest, she would tell him a complete truth as it didn't matter if he knew, "He won't. Unless you attack me, we have no intentions to single out Detainers. We _just_ want to survive the six days. Plus, there is the risk that I help you and..." she glowered at the woman who casually stood besides him, "Then she attacks me."

His jaw lowered. To his chest, if it could. She would just openly admit that? How could that even be true? But he knows his ways around scummy people. He deals with savages on a daily, and she was being honest. He could tell. To think, he and his woman weren't the only ones not interested in the Host's little reward. Plus, her cautiousness of Armenia was perfectly placed. 

He decided to laugh off her comment. He knew, even though he wasn't looking at her, that Armenia's eyes were rolling. "You got a deal, then. Armenia, you wanted an order, use your thread to seal the wound in her side to show her our good faith." 

Tensing at the female's lazy approach, she watched as Armenia pulled strands of hair from her head that thickened almost like a strip of gauze. With gentle ease, she lifted Haley's arms up and circled them around her low half. The magic weaved into her wound and sealed the split in her side. 

Nodding at her handy work, Armenia tapped a spot in her locks and the hair around the girl evaporated. "Your name. You should give it for my Detainer's kindness." 

"It's Haley," She said immediately and took the hand outstretched from Armenia to stand. "And.. thanks. You didn't have to do that."

"Oh but I did, if not, how could you uphold your part of the bargain?" He said, grabbing his woman into his side, "Now I suggest you follow us. Any wrong step will have you trapped or sliced in her web." 

Haley's lip rolled under her teeth and she looked over her shoulder. Where was Diarmuid? Was he safe? She turned back to the obvious couple and followed unsure of what else to do.

\-------------------------------------------

The final head rolled before he set out to the window. At least the Undead didn't break down the entire door, or else it would have made his slaughtering of them impossible. He grazed the window and leaped out landing with a thud in some mud. He grimaced and looked past the discarded cars to the woodlands behind the distorted city.

She was alive. He figured for his body was still able. He would be would be stilled, waiting for the shadow to take him if she weren't. From what his sharp senses told him - she was far off but he was determined to get to her swiftly. The danger this was, being so separated, was not something he was comfortable with. 

In his trailing of her, a few tracks later, her voice erupted in his own,

_Diarmuid, are.. are you okay?_

_I am, my lady. Thank goodness you are yourself again._

_Yeah... listen, I know you are probably trying to find me. But if you enter the forest, I need you to stop. There are invisible webs that can slice you into pieces._

He slowed his pace to a stop at her warning, _Are you safe, my Lady?_

 _I am, for now. I'm... in a temporary truce with the people responsible for the webs. Wait where you are, and I will see if I can convince them to let us come to you._

In a truce? How had she managed to do that in such a small amount of time? Shrugging his shoulders he tapped his back on the rough edges of the tree trunk. There was nothing he could do, but wait, and hope she were able to persuade them. 

Gazing at the damp leaves, he drifted back to moments ago, before she burst through the window. Whether she was aware or not, he had almost kissed her. He squeezed his eyes together, and massaged his forehead with his fingers. Would that reveal of his growing emotions actually have broke her from her trance? It might have... when his lips were a breath away, the control it had on her definitely wavered... or it would not have retreated so hastily. Still... What had he been thinking? 

He lingered for a moment, before a snapping of twig caught his ears. His hands balled into fists when leered around the tree's trunk. In the distance, snarls were heard. Stepping out of the darkness of the shrubbery, thick, hairy paws came into view. Snarls surrounded him, and he slowly lifted the sword into his hands. First it was the Undead, then that horrendous Demon. Now, the glowing, red eyes of wolves bared their fangs. Wait no, _werewolves_

approached.

The alpha stepped out, and cleared the way of the smaller canines. It had a large head, a long snout and manged fur. It stood on its hind legs, and spread its arms like a bear. Diarmuid leveled his stare with the beast and prepared for battle once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I took a little leap in stating that haley is the first hes come to truly adore and connect with. To further elaborate... hes referring to on an emotional and learn level. 
> 
> His time with the loathly lady was 3 days and never really got to know her, and the he lost her love once he saved her in her realm. 
> 
> Saber he never really got to know besides her chivalry. 
> 
> Haley is technically the first woman he actually met, worked with, learned about, etc. And actually took the time to establish something with. Which he is acknowledging her in a way. 
> 
> Tell me if it feels a little forced! Either way, on to the writing the next chapter ! Hehe


	25. Possibility

An agonizing step followed another. They were nice enough to mend the wound at her side so she would not bleed out, but the stripped meat from her fall was still adamantly apparent, and throbbing. Few of her burns scraped open, and the pulse of healing nipped at her continuously. 

If only she could give in to her magic's constant push, because it was more aggressive and annoying than the injuries themselves.

A humble fire lit the crossed wood in a small, tucked away hidden part of the forest. She caught the shimmer of the web stretched across the branches, and swallowed. 

If she could just figure out how the woman is controlling the threads, then maybe she could pave a way for Diarmuid to enter. Keeping the thought in the back of her head, she crossed her legs to sit with her captors around the tiny, flurry flame.

"Here, you look famished," Egan said, offering her a couple of pieces of meat that he pulled from a small rag. She was that kind of skinny where you wondered if it was just her structure, or if she needed to have food shoved down her throat in controlled intervals. "It's rabbit, so it'll be light."

Haley took the cooked game and tore a piece to sample it. She never tasted rabbit... she had deer once before, but that was the closest thing to the wild she ever got.

It was surprisingly tender, and a bit earthy. Savoring bite after bite, she caught them goggling at her. That Armenia lady's harsh stare made her gulp heavier than expected. She hadn't realized she was so hungry, and guessed her enjoyment of the new flavors surprised them.

"Does your Forsaken not feed you?" Armenia asked flatly.

Haley felt her face flush, 

"Oh gosh, no, that's not it!" almost losing the remaining bits of she had when she flailed her hands, she quickly corrected them. "It's just been a bit since I ate. We've.. hadn't really a time to eat with everything attacking us." 

She sighed, they really haven't. She was tired, so she chose rest over eating. She was expecting to have whatever food was in their bag when she awoke, but then the demon interrupted that.

Shuffling through the prey Armenia easily sliced, Egan scraped the rabbit skin and turned it on a sharp string over the fire. They had plenty, and with her hairs they could easily hunt more if need be. They had been lucky the webs offered protection from the enemies of the Arena, and even granted them food. Not having sponsors took its toll in earlier settings, but here, he finally felt they could shine. Maybe earn something for protecting the girl...

"So... about my For-...ugh.. about my friend. How is he going to get past the webs?" Haley asked between bites of delicious game. Maybe they would just let him in, since they seemed nice enough. 

The contemplating looked at the woman who was delicate with everything she touched. Even the way she moved to sit beside Egan was elegant and refined. Would she, who was clearly in a relationship with the man who just tenderly kissed her cheek, be able to resist Diarmuid's lure? For a second she debated utilizing it again to their advantage, like he had with the nutcases in that apartment building. 

Ehhh, that would actually be too cruel, to _both_ the allies and Diarmuid. The couple seemed... smitten, and she would not want to damage that. Plus, she was sure since they were in relations, that Diarmuid would reject the idea anyway... it was because of his lovespot separating couples that he was in this mess, after all.

They traded glances, and Armenia pressed her mouth in a firm line. Egan did not mention her Forsaken, and she put little thought into it. Granting him access through her maze of web could endanger Egan, or benefit them both greatly.

To be fair, Egan thought about all possibilities. He was just not sure which was the best he would take. Having the girl's Forsaken with them in a perfect world was a great asset. They were rumored to be good fighters, easily dominating that ship round they were in. Having them work as their offense while they focused on the defense was perfect. 

That was _if_ the guy this brunette was with didn't kill one of them —or both of them— first.

The average man was more inclined to keep her burly man out, because the leverage they had over them was not something they would get again if they granted him access. Having that Haley's friend here meant they had to watch their back that much more. If Egan were honest, that was actually frightening since they've avoided conflict so far.

Adding on, the girl still had her end of the bargain, and letting her friend in gave her no reason to uphold it. The dangerous outcome of leaving her Forsaken to his own wits was that somehow, he would be finished off completely. At that point, the girl would be granted full use of her abilities and he wasn't so sure which was faster. The hairs, or her mind.

The question was what was most likely to happen —Their betrayal— or her Forsaken's true death?

"I don't think we can do that. Armenia, thoughts?" Egan asked, thinking his partner might want a say in this decision.

The female in orange thought over it, and sipped water from her canteen then tightened the cap. Weighing out the alternatives, she nodded, agreeing with Egan. 

The chances of Haley's friend losing while she was in an enemies' grasps was too low given their reputation. He would find a way to survive for her, to make it to her, to ensure her safety. After all, it is how _she_ would handle their situation if it were to happen to them. Armenia's goal would be to remain as able as possible to reunite with Egan to keep him safe from the dangers that threatened such a delicate man.

Taking the canteen that Armenia offered to her, Haley shifted in crusty leaves. If only she could persuade them, "He could help protect us, you know. Make sure we all make it to the end of the round."

Egan's head shook no, "We should be fine here as long we don't break away from her strings."

"And if something like that demon finds a way through?" Haley countered. She was sure the Arena would find a way to interrupt their peace.

The dark haired man sighed, and rubbed the back of tight locks, "We can fight it. She has her ways."

"We have a decision. Enough trying to change it." Armenia skewered the woman with her hardest glare. She should appreciate how open minded they've been so far. Berating them on their tactful ideas was not earning her any favors.

Haley went to hold her arm, but placed her hands in her lap instead to avoid touching her wounds. What was their plan, then? Did they just want her to sit with them and wait for whatever attacked? That would be too boring for the audience. To keep it interesting, they would be under constant attack. They seemed to understand that, but...

Apparently, it appeared that they weren't bothered since landing here. The closest thing to excitement was Haley's arrival. They saw a couple of the Undead slice themselves on the wire, and a few competitors. 

The enemies either got trapped in the sticky barbs, or steered away when they saw the glimmers. They had their answers to elementals, like Fire. It would only break down the outer casing of the webs that were just sticky, but once it reached the razor edged mesh it would be ineffective.

Coming to grips that they wouldn't budge, Haley settled that she could have worse company. They were fairly generous, despite her being their hostage, anyway. If she played by their agenda, maybe they would change their mind and make this a full on alliance or something.

To ease the anxiety floating through the air, Egan figured he would raise conversation around their snugly fire,

"So, what is your desire if you win?" He asked complacently, snaring another bite of the tender meat that finished over the fire.

Haley's shoulders rose, "I'm still deciding. Right now, I just want to save my friend."

That was all? His eyebrow lowered, as if implying he did not believe that to be the whole truth. Everyone wants _something_ and they are promising the winner anything they want with their divine and magical powers. 

Why wouldn't she take advantage of that? She didn't seem to suspect what he and Armenia did to alter her expectations as they had. He wondered if dipping her in the same pot he boiled to get her insight was something worth trying...

Finishing the final bits of the catch they shared with her, Haley leaned back into the moist grass and massaged her fingers through it. The cool dirt was so relaxing under her finger tips. It wasn't often she got to converse with the competition, and definitely not so calmly.. he wanted to know what she would do if she won, why not pick at their motives, too?

"What about you two? Anything in particular you'd want if you win?" She probed, dismissing the fact that they wouldn't get it because she and Diarmuid had to be the final two in the end.

The brightness is Armenia's golden eyes dulled with somberness, when she thought of their answer. The Haley girl shared a very similar ambition to their own. The only difference was the execution. She looked at the wrinkled fabric along her arms with longing for their wish to be met, but...

The softest expression overtook the once casual—and perky— features of the man on his knees. His arm gently hooked around Armenia's side and he planted a feathery kiss under her ear, 

"I desire to remain with her as long as possible, and will accept however that has to happen."

The poker-face Armenia kept easily washed away into the affection given to her by Egan, like a shell in the tide. 

His words and actions were simple but effective, and the smile on the woman's face was so pure, it felt like a puppeteer was pulling the strings that manipulated Haley's heart. In the seconds those two both dropped the charade and nestled into each other, she decided... She actually _liked_ them.

What was going to happen to these two when she won the tournament? To the others in the tournament who might not all be bat shit crazy, or have agendas impure? She never put much effort into the dreams and wishes she was stepping on in order to achieve her own goals.. the _lives_ that might be lost for Diarmuid's one to be saved.

It dawned on her like the rising sun, that she was not the only one who had high stakes involved. Sure, her bounty was terrible, and her father's tortures immeasurably damaging... but was it worth sacrificing the love these two shared for one another? Was saving Diarmuid worth more than Armenia's own end? Did she, or anyone else, have the right to decide that? Competition or not? 

It was... not comforting to think about.

So.. what if Armenia was just as terrible as the others in this Underworld? Just because she melted into her man's touch didn't mean she wasn't an evil spirit.

"What did... you do to be here, Armenia? If that's... okay to ask." The question leaked out before Haley could stop it, before she could consider how rude and prying it was…

Thankfully, the woman didn't seem angered by her inquiry. Instead, her face was masked with something deep and grim. Her boyfriend? Husband? He wound up sharing the bleak look in his gaze, despite still having a smile painted across his lips.

"I did not do anything, or so I believe I have not. I am simply here because of how I was born." She said blankly. 

Egan's hands brushed the bangs that stretched across the top of her eyes, and Armenia leaned into the lips that planted on her forehead when she spoke the words.

Seeing Haley's eyebrows bunch together made Egan chuckle. If only she knew the hardships his loved one faced in life, "Armenia... is half Succubus. Despite being half human, the demon part of her when she was killed brought her here."

Succubus... she had read about that somewhere before in magecraft books. What was the lore... Demon women who to have eternal youth drain.... She shook her head. What those two did in the bedroom was none of her business.

That thought of Diarmuid being able to enchant her, well, now she knew it shouldn't be possible. If anything, she would have to worry about it being the other way around. That thought was almost laughable and painfully ironic. Still.. a half phantasmal beast... right in front of her... being punished for her creation. Diarmuid.. being judged for having emotions.

It was a terrible thing. Diarmuid's was in a rage, yelling cruses when the evil of the Grail twisted his words and form to become the mess he was now. This woman... was born to be sent to the depths of Hell, despite —or at least as she says— not doing anything. Why do these unthinkable things happen?

How... was she supposed to win instead of these people?

"I... I'm sorry." Was all she could pitifully gargle out.

Releasing his woman's waist, Egan cleared his throat, 

"Nothing to be sorry for," He folded his arms behind his head and laid into the grass. 

The girl was genuine... he could not read her mind like the others, but her mannerisms was another story. The way her hands moved for comfort, the lip that rolled under her teeth, and the shaky eyebrows said it all. 

He decided she deserved to question things as he did. To not get her hopes up for the end she was looking for, "Life can be nasty sometimes. Just like this tournament."

If she could give him a toast, she would, "No kidding.."

"It is why I aim to ask the Gods to allow me to stay here until a Shadow takes her.." He said quietly, taking her light hand in his, "It would be the best gift."

"Egan..." She dragged out in a scolding tone. She cast her glance to her competition, whose gears were turning, processing, the comment her beloved said. Why would he...

"Wait... Why would a Shadow take her after you win?"

\-------------------------------------------

So much time fighting these beasts, and little progress felt like it was made.

An undercut into the jugular shed blood in a spray across the pine. Still, even though the alpha bled so severely, its approach didn't falter. Huge hands like paws scraped to gauge out Diarmuid's chest. Had he not anticipated the attack and tossed the wolf that lunged for his back, he would have been mincemeat.

Catching a thick branch with a single hand mid leap, he swayed his feat into the jaw of a pouncing wolf. His other arm slanted his steel across the belly of the next before thudding into the dirt.

The slaying of beasts was resulting in pained arms, and tired joints. The weight of the alpha had his legs quivering, ready to buckle under the pressure the bloodstained paws had on the sword's blade. It was attempting to crush him underneath it, not a care for the damaged limbs.

Skin snapped under the fangs of an oncoming, snarling beast, while he struggled with the leader above him. Visuals of the cursed boar plagued him, and he refused to allow his fate to twice be maimed by savages.

When another chomped his ankle, cracking Diarmuid's bone in its muzzle, he dented the gut of the mongrel with his fist. In one swoop, the sword swiped, striping the belly of the beast and splattering the eyes of what was attached to his ankle. The mutt clamped to his ribs shoved him down, but its cry from having his blade lodged into its throat was all that was left.

Even if his body were a copy - the blemishes from the bites still were accompanied by the same, gnawing effects. His breath was haggard, his ankle and chest ached, and a low rumble behind him insinuated he had no time to give any concern to them.

More of those wretched beasts approached, and even though he refused to grow tired, the weapon clearly was losing its muster. Silver was chipped and nicked.. What was he to do? Fight the next onslaught with his bare hands?

Gritting his teeth, he snatched the duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. It was senseless lugging this sack around, but the necessities it carried were too great to leave behind.

It was also protection for his back, for running was his best chance to survive another assault. His master said there were webs spread across the forest... it was dangerous, but if he headed in her direction, maybe he could lure the beasts into their enemies' trap.

\-------------------------------------------

It was an accident. 

Reaching the Dome long before the events in the Arena started, they decided to kill time. The map they were given only instructed them to stay away from the Sacred Market, since it was for the Spirits of the other side, and where the Hosts would be staying. 

That was simple enough to follow, but they were curious if anything outside the colossal structure would be part of the tournament.

After asking the Observers lingering in the lobby if they could roam, given there were so little Forsaken and their Detainers about as of yet, they were granted the opportunity. With Armenia still cuffed, and dictation to listen for the announcement calling them to the Arena, they set out to journey the vast space available to them.

He recalled how mesmerized Armenia was with the beautiful detail in the glimmering lake, and how serene the warm rays of sun felt along her cold, dark skin. It felt like ages since she was graced with a fresh aroma of flowers and freshly mowed grass.

Egan's light chortle traveled with the breeze that passed through the arena, when he recalled how he fell in love with the beautiful woman all over again. Seeing her usual, placid expression brighten from encountering the life of the world she had been forced out of readied him to liberate her. To allow her to see this in life once more.

As they circled around, they caught wind of a conversation. It was dumb luck, when they reached the end of their travels to the back end of the Sacred Market. They knew to turn around, but the voices carrying peaked his curiosity.

Getting bits and pieces of the Observer's chatter, they bickered on how the winner of the tournament was to have their soul freed from the fate of Hell. Would it be the great Merlin using his magic to cut the ties of their souls to the Underworld? Or would it be Athena, the Goddess of Greece who would use her Divine knowledge and connections?

Their whispers continued; Merlin could use his great magic to find a spell to grant their greatest desires, even Loki and Dolos would work that simple part out. The frightening part was that the souls of the damned could use that desire to do terrifying things.

They reeled back to how damaging it would be if one of the worse Forsaken had gotten the privilege promised of being released from the chains of Hell. 

They blathered on; If not who could do it, but how? What would the results be? Were any of those Heroic Spirits up there or Gods powerful enough to sever Hades' control or bring them to life? Would they become Heroic Spirits themselves? What was the plan?

They were interrupted by the chime for the Forsaken to make their way to the Coliseum to begin registration and pool into the Stadium. Required to patrol, or be part of the charade inside the Dome, they left leaving Egan and Armenia with the same questions.

"I asked around, and no one seems to have the answer to what happens to whoever wins... that furthers my suspicion that maybe, just maybe, they cannot do as they promise." Egan said, pulling at the thin sweater that was a terrible barrier between himself and the clammy grass. "What do you think?"

"I... don't know. Observers... might not know the background due to the panel keeping it secret.." Haley said slowly, trying to grip the story he granted her. 

Was any of it true? Reading his intentions, with every word he spilled... told her he was trying to warn her. For what purpose, though? To maybe break her spirit and stop her wanting to fight? Or... was the means as simple as the caution that was leaking from him.

"Why wouldn't the Host's want the security of the Underworld to know what could be a huge security risk?" He looked to Armenia, who gave him a worried nod. 

Should he be discussing this with someone they just met? Probably not, but what harm would come of it, anyway? 

"My wife would live with me, if she was granted a second life. No one would know of her true nature, so she could live the life she wants...But another Forsaken? A murderer? Who knows."

"What if the Observer's didn't know then, but do now...?" She pondered allowed, now trying to avoid the plagues of doubt eating away at her mind. 

She always wondered why there was no true answer to what would happen to Diarmuid's soul if they won... the _possibility_ of this being true..

"Maybe," he said, taking clumps of wet dirt in his palms. Egan dampened the fire to bring the light down. It was getting late, and he was feeling rather tired.

"We.. do not know for sure," Armenia added in, pulling a few strands of hair to create a blanket of magic on the ground for Egan who thanked her, "It is wise to come to your own conclusion."

Haley watched Armenia use another string of hair to scrape off the clumps of soil from his back and smiled gently. He leaned in and placed his lips on hers so lightly, before she aided him on magical hair across the ground. They.. seemed to really care for one another.

Her hand twitched, wanting to scratch or cover the open gashes from those very threads Armenia used to comfort her lover. She heard that same magical whistle when she twinged a couple more lines from her head and made another towel with them and sprawled it out near her,

"You should sleep, as well. I will keep watch." Armenia said plainly, dipping her head in a small bow before stepping away.

The gesture was so nice of her, and she actually thought to try it even though the idea burned in the back of her mind that she might try to get her in her sleep. She hesitated a moment, and before she could make her final decision, Diarmuid's voice interrupted,

_My Lady, I know I said I would wait for your instruction, but I am running out of time. There are werewolves close behind, and my weapon is dulling!_

Haley shot up from where she sat, and her hand rubbed at her temple,

 _What?! Hang on!_ She looked to Armenia, whose eyebrows rose from her sudden movement, "My friend, he is being chased by Werewolves!"

The alarm that flickered across her eyes made Haley's heart flutter. Would she actually help them?!

Armenia pulled her hair over her shoulder and placed her fingertips on top of her silk. She closed her eyes, and followed the sensory in the magic to detect where her friend was. 

She felt the presence of multiple body signatures heading their way, one similar to hers and the others... "I will color my webs. Tell your Forsaken to follow the bronze lines."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a fun chapter to write. These new characters are sweethearts in disguise. I couldn't decide on what kind of Demon to make Armenia, but figured a Succubus worked well enough.
> 
> Her backstory is easy... she was born of a human woman, and her father an incubus. Not wanting to retain immortality, she tried to live life as a mortal.
> 
> Meeting Egan, she and he fell in love. They married and lived happily until the world found out of her existence and killed her, after her father.
> 
> In Egan's despair, he desperately tried to find a way to revive his true love - and almost gave up. Until he heard a rumor at the Magus Association. A way to save a single soul from Hell, and he departed to save her from her fate.


	26. Split Ends

A rogue line of web diverted to gold leading him down a path away from where his Master was located. Was the plan to keep them further apart? What exactly was this truce that his Master agreed to?

_If I wind up being in danger, I will use the command seal to summon you. But.. I think they can be trusted._

Following the guide left for him, Diarmuid had faith in her instincts. Behind him, it proved to be worthwhile. The webs dropped from the trees and sliced away at the trail of werewolves. He slowed, and released a breath. Whimpering faded into the trees, and whoever controlled the web's efforts had saved him.

He knelt down on one knee to examine the holes in his heel, and was glad it didn't puncture the artery. Sure, he wouldn't bleed out, but the effects would be the same. The abrasions on the left side of his ribs weren't too bad, either. They were deep, but not threatening.

Peering at the threads above, they began crossing different directions, as if a spider was spinning the web and almost barricaded him in. He thought that to be an attack, until the Master assured him her allies were boxing him in so nothing could attack him from outside it. 

Was it really safe leaving her in their grasps? Well, trying to break through would indeed end with the severing of his limbs. At least his Master's position had not changed.

Diarmuid took this moment of stillness and inspected the sword's blade. He estimated it would last only a couple of slashes. Were all the weaponry in the Arena so shallow, or was the enemies it broke apart that strong? It was hard for him to tell.

It was so eerily quiet, he concluded. Aside from the groans of the Undead in the distance, or the chirping of crickets, he had expected to hear the screams of others as they faced the monsters of the Arena. Maybe he would bump into others as his Master did, or the forest was filled with so much web that others avoided it. Regardless, he appreciated the peace.

If only it would be this way for the rest of the eight... or seven days left. Although, that would be asking for too much, as the next challenge approached with disastrous consequences.

**\------------------------------------------------**

Cold wetness from a drop of water on Haley's nose disrupted her sleep. Sitting up from the silk beneath her, she rubbed her eyes and looked around the surrounding trees. Egan was still sound asleep, while his wife was... Where _was_ Armenia?

Haley stood, patting the back of her jeans and folded her arm across her chest. Stepping away from the little camp they had, she looked along the layers of trees and came up empty. She felt a chill, as her arms began to quiver. Was it always this cold? Or was it another effect of the Arena?

Haley spotted the orange suited woman finely inspecting the webs with dainty hands. There was this magnificence in the aura surrounding the ethereal succubus. Her bright optics and long lashes appeared to be unsettled, nudging her inspector’s curiosity. 

Joining Armenia, Haley bent in close to see her handiwork. Ginger finger twittered with the laces maneuvering in different directions across the bushes and treeline. They shined a bright silver under the woman's touch, and radiated a warm magic that was almost alluring.

"The threads... they are cold," She said in a low, heedful tone. Gold eyes met crystal blue ones, "Do you know what could cause this?"

Haley shook her head, and cast the Arena an inquisitive, fleeting look, "Maybe it gets colder at night to freeze the participants that aren't prepared for it."

Not dismissing the strangeness Armenia nodded, accepting her assumption. She scrutinized the lanky girl, who had her own, distinct beauty. Nice cheekbones, exquisitely large and bright sapphire eyes. The brunette colored hair reached above the young woman’s hips and she had side bangs that barely reached her eyelashes. 

The female was observant, sweetly engrossed in her adjustment of the webs. If Armenia were not mistaken, she was not a troublesome character.

"So... you're a Succubus... does that mean you...?" Haley wondered allowed, and the woman shook her head once to the side.

"I do not care for feeding off the energy of humans... as I am half mortal as well." She pulled down some strings from above her and caressed the wires, "In life, I only wished to embrace that part of myself, but people still resented me."

Putting a thoughtful hand on the woman's hunched shoulder, Haley gave her a reassuring smile, "Egan seems to favor you."

Letting the wire go back above them, her sorrow was immediately replaced with an affectionate devotion. Her heart skipped a beat, thinking of how determined Egan was to take her out on a date. How persistent, despite her numerous rejections until she finally gave in, "Yes, Egan loves me, not for the lure of the Succubus, but for me. He was always the light in the darkness that surrounded me."

Whenever Armenia talked about Egan, her face lit, her posture was reassured, and it was like her elegance kicked up a notch. Haley was almost jealous of it.

"Tell me.. is your wish really only to save your Forsaken?" Armenia asked, a bit intrigued. She was remaining cautious around this girl, but the way she carried herself brought upon wonder. It could also be beneficial to attempt to get knowledge from her.

A kind blanket covered her face, and Haley rocked on her heels, "Yeah. He's.." She cast her glance to the detailed crossing of the webs above her. "He's.. a good person, who just got stabbed by fate...so I aim to save him."

If that were even possible, now that she had the doubts they planted in her mind. Purposeful or not, the seeds sprouted way too fast that maybe.. just maybe, there was no true way to save Diarmuid. Her stomach twisted like a pretzel at the thought.

Armenia nodded in understanding, "Fate can be.. cruel sometimes."

Haley almost chuckled, she wasn't kidding. Armenia reminded her of Diarmuid. Strung up by fate, and left to be a victim of it. She still couldn't wrap her thoughts around how the world could create her and then send her to Hell for it.

"You know I don't even call him Forsaken? It... feels insulting to you all.. you know?" Haley said with a bit of distaste lingering.

Armenia did notice, and felt a tinge of guilt for following the terminology herself, "You care for him."

"Too much, sometimes." She laughed, scratching at the back of her head in embarrassment, "I do stupid things when it comes to him. I don't get it."

The way Haley's cheeks deepened, and the shine that cast over her eyes when speaking of her friend brought about a chuckle from Armenia. She seemed almost an innocent girl, unaware of her feelings. The care she spoke of was exactly how her fondness of Egan grew.

 _Maybe this maiden could be trusted._ Armenia reflected within herself. If she were correct on her character—and the mutterings she sputtered about her friend true— could guiding her friend to join them be that problematic? If she wanted to contemplate it more, maybe learning more of her partner was ideal...

"So.. What did your friend do to end up here..?"

The temperature dropped another level that would only feel unnatural to Armenia rather than a normal human. Something was..

She grabbed the collar of Haley's shirt and leaped with her as the threads broke apart. Shards in the sudden commotion aimed for the girl's heart. If someone were attacking them here the.... "Egan!"

The woman darted to the camp, while Haley covered her head from the domino effect of breaking threads. She pushed off the ground to follow Armenia. There was nothing she could do if they were under attack. In fact, with the barriers broken, she should run to Diarmuid. Get as far from them as possible.. But..

The enemy just saved her. Whether it was a reflex or pure idiocy, she protected her from gems scattered directly for her. So she followed, and prayed there was something she could do.

\------------------------------------------

The lacework blinked away, and in that instant Diarmuid spun the sword to deflect a bullet. He whipped to his left to angle his sword towards the steaming gun aimed for him that dropped to the enemy's side.

"Well, I wasn't expecting you to sense my presence so quickly. I guess there is a reason you're in the top running too." The sly smirk on the muscular man's rectangular face, and double chin found a way to piss him off, however steady Diarmuid remained.

Fighting a weapon like that with a sword felt almost pointless, but he would try. Especially since the energy from the webs almost completely dissipated. What was happening on his Master's end?

He matched the curly haired man's grin with his own, "Apparently, I bring about a lot of attention." The menacing grin across the bastard in front grew. Diarmuid shook his head with disgust, "If only my opponent's held a lick of honor. There has been no glory in fighting any of you pests."

The guy belted his weapon and drew his own sword from the sheath around his jumpsuit, "Don't care for what you're mumbling to yourself about there, but eliminating you is going to be a treat. No use wasting my bullets, eh?"

The sword play of this character was so out of place. His strikes were random and easily deflected, but he was confident with each blow he gave. He was damaging his skills purposely. He must have had something that he hid under his snared orange sleeves.

Parrying his strike, the guffawing man swiped his foot to kick at Diarmuid's broken skin at his heel. How did he notice the blemish? It was not large enough to spot unless... was he responsible for the wolves attack? 

A stretch of a thought, but not impossible. Leaping out of his strike, Diarmuid brought the blade down —feigning a strike for the back of his nape— but actually aimed to turn and strike his foot into his gut.

He caught each blow, and swung him like a toy in his massive grip. He felt the tree split from his back against it and grit his teeth. He pushed off the bark and clashed against the man's blade to send sparks flying. His enemy's swinging intensified, accompanied by his own strength.

Bending at the back to avoid the swing for his throat, he caught the approach of more beasts. So, he was in command of some of the creatures here. Another pain for the dull blade, unless...

"Aahh.. your stamina is to be applauded... its great, it's wonderful!" His teeth bared in a fabulous smile, until the underhanded jab he blocked opened his side to have the weapon he clutched in his hand flung in the air.

Diarmuid caught the handle of his blade and crossed the sword for his chest- but the surprise was gone and the enjoyment turned to rage in the man's blackened eyes. "Bastard, I will have your head!"

He practically belched and creatures appeared from his back, eyes glowing lunged for Diarmuid. He swiped the newly found, thick blade across the throats, splattering blood among other vital things. He jumped far back, the city and rising warmth of the sun at his back. 

Another mass of vermin roaring for him but he would not waste his efforts on them. Defeating the manipulator would end their pursuit, that much was clear.. but..

The timing.. was much too perfect.

\--------------------------------------

Armenia's hair swatted the air like a fly, crossing sharp threads across the ice manipulator. The movement between the two was too quick for Haley's eyes to follow. The man darted across the sky, land shot diamond's of ice her way, and she easily deflected it with the wire.

Laughter accompanied the assassin darting through the leaves of trees. Armenia stayed directly in front Egan, blocking any way for the cackling lurch to strike him. If only she could catch their assailant. She was only able to repel the scattered ice because of her instincts and thread’s guidance. That was the extent of her power against the foe that easily froze and shattered her webs when their feet touched them.

Her beating heart banged against her chest begging Armenia to leave. Walls of ice cornered thr group in, trapping them like mice in a cage. She whipped her strings to collapse the thick brick wall of ice, their tumbling revealing the taunting stretch of smile across the eemy Forsaken's face. She shot her thickest wire to pierce him but-

He was much quicker than her, and his ice clad hand fist struck her intestines first. Right as the man ejected from her, a strand of hair unloaded and tangled itself along his body. He grunted in the net that effortlessly began to freeze over.

All while, Armenia healed the gaping hole. _How is he able to freeze her threads?_ No.. they weren't just freezing it - he was hardening it as well, so much it would break apart.

"Armenia, we should run while we have the chance!" Egan instructed, grabbing her wrist and turning her away from the enemy about to break free.

"He's right, come on." Haley encouraged, wishing she could do _something_ to assist them.

"What... what about your friend?" Egan asked from behind his wife’s back, "Can he help?"

The crazy laughter hounding them was so distracting, and the collapsing of webs behind them worrying Haley beyond belief. The magic this guy possessed, how would Diarmuid counter? Maybe use his speed and his Knights stuff that could give him at least a 1% chance of survival.. but still even that...

No, he would find a way, he always did -

"He... will not be of use." Armenia grounded out, filled with shame. Letting her friend in earlier might have... "I detected my webs break apart where he was protected by them.. I.." She side eyed the girl, whose face painted with worry, "Fear he is in battle as well."

Haley looked to the back of her hand. Was this the moment to call for the command seal? He could appear to them in an instant...

The Assassin blocked their path of retreat, dropping from the canopy. He snickered, patting his bare chest, "Man, you lot runnin' has been... tedious. But finally, I have you cornered!"

In their pause, the air cooled so low Haley's breath could be seen. Around them the forest crystallized and collapsed leaving the area wide open. Well, shit they were in trouble.

There was nothing for her to snare her webs across, Armenia could only aim the fibers straight for him. His dash across the field he created was easier for her aim, but still his speed- he dashed over the strings, spun through them.. he even snared himself purposely against them to close the distance.. _How? Why?_

Where was his Detainer? Even if it were against their wishes... If Armenia could target them-

Haley dodged the angled glass that aimed for her, only getting the side of her arm grazed from the attack. She almost tumbled in the dirt and practically fought back before her eyes caught on the two before her.

The enemy’s ice stretched across the distance and stabbed through Armenia's stomach to snare the center of Egan's chest. A string escaped Armenia's hair and sliced upward, severing the blade of cold that dripped in Egan's blood. In that split second, she sent a cluster of web to tangle the man readying his next attack in.

He struggled in the sticky barbs that could do nothing but hold his position for a short amount of time. He spewed senseless curses at the lot, threatening to break loose. The grimy threads were harder for him to freeze. Bladed webs shot at his rampaging frame but.. the man's wall of ice blocked her hit and Egan.. he was...

More hairs released and attempted to heal them both.. but.. the wounds were sealing slower than usual... if at all.. "Why will they not heal?!"

The man let out a curt laugh, "My wounds take much longer to heal!"

Desperate, she turned her distraught gaze to the girl with wide eyes and a trembling lip and pleaded, "Please... I cannot hold him..." she felt tears swell in her eyes. "Please... take Egan far away... I beg of you. I will do whatever you wish.. so please..!"

Haley blinked away her fear and nodded, "You don't have to do anything for me! I will help!" Because what kind of person would she be not doing so? Armenia was withstanding this jackass for _both_ of them. It broke the brunette's heart. If she knew any better, this was a sacrifice. If she were to fall against the enemy, Egan could still fight. Could still _live._

Locks of hair plucked from Armenia's gorgeous features to swallow Haley’s light figure.. She felt the warmth heal every injury and with repulsion for not being able to do more: snatched the man bandaged man in Armenia's webs over her shoulder. Immediately Haley ran into the woods, and paused to dare a glance back as Egen whispered a broken command. 

With red light beaming from the back of the pendulous man’s right hand to engulf Armenia in power, his partner struck apart the enemy's blockade of ice and charged.

\-------------------------------------------

This man was a thorn in his side. Haley called out to him, needing him near. Her situation must be dire if she questioned using a command seal. No, he would not force her hand, they may need that seal for much later in the game. He would get to her- he had to.

Still, he must have been pressuring the man to use his control of the beasts, he would not have called them forward if he weren't. The muscle man was in a tree, and however foolish it might be, Diarmuid drove his legs forward. Right through the mesh of creatures, he hacked away taking the bites and clawing that came with it.

He ducked, and slid underneath the charge of the beasts and sliced upward, opening their belly's. Blood rained on him, but still, he went forward. Dodging the flash of bullets, he knew he was backing the man in a corner. He dodged his onward slicing, hiding further into the trees. Diarmuid flung the sword and it spun, flaying the branches behind the forsaken, causing him to misstep backwards into a fall.

He drove the sword's edge into his chest with his increased speed he saved just for this moment. The light in the man's eyes flickered out, and he yanked the blade from him. The wolves that gave chase died out with him. In those few seconds Diarmuid assured Haley.. he was coming.

\------------------------------------------

Why? Why did they keep circling back? Haley was panting like a dog, getting tired from the ceaseless running. Every which way they went— they ended up at the same, stupid tree. They were only meters away from Armenia's weakening control of their situation.

And Egan’s wounds.. they weren't healing fast enough! Behind her, prints of blood marked their endless lapping. She grit her teeth and lightly dragged Egan off her shoulder. 

The rules said she couldn't use magic to aid her Forsaken in saving her... what about.. someone else? Would she really risk it...? Damn it all.. She hovered her palms over the hole in his chest when he slapped them away,

"Shit... this really.. turned out for the worst..." Egan said, "Don't heal me.. you'll... be disqualified."

"But the rules stated-" She tried to argue, but he shook his head,

"The Forsaken is responsible for keeping their Detainer safe... if you.." he coughed, and iron filled his throat, "Impede on that... they'll punish you."

"Then... then what am I supposed to do?! The enemy has a magic that keeps bringing us right back... and you..!"

"Tch... me? I... am a coward..." He hacked, his gaze turned to the mud that drank his blood, "I was too afraid... to let your friend in... if I did.. maybe.."

Haley listened to his rambling in bewilderment. No, she would have done the same thing. Letting her go might have had her coming back to get them, letting Diarmuid come in could have them betraying them. Sure, they wouldn't have.. but how were they supposed to know that? "Stop... you need to let her magic heal you…!"

The air around them swirled, as a line in the Arena split open. It dropped a canister that rolled next to Egan's ear. He turned over, and lifted the vile. _A sponsor.. finally.. they earned... a sponsor.._

He unraveled the paper attached to the metal, and read it. Was it instruction on a way to heal him, maybe? Or a way to-

He laughed, _so... that's... that's how it is_. He chuckled again, and felt the confusion from the girl above him.

"What is that? How does it help?" Haley questioned, as he crumpled the paper in his hands and tossed it like trash. She followed the paper then cocked her head to Egan.. "Egan...?"

Egan shoved the canister into Haley's hand. She needed this more than he did. He sent a loving thought to his beloved fighting bravely on the battlefield. "A... bomb..give... it to.."

"Egan! EGAN!" Haley shook the feeble man at the shoulders, and his eyes flickered. No... he was... _Shit. Shit. SHIT!_

Haley pushed off the ground and sprinted to Armenia. She broke through the remaining trees and called to the woman who was being struck from all sides. Her golden eyes widened, not understanding her return for sure. But still... in the instant her scream brought their assailant’s attention off Armenia and to her: she threw the explosive to the Succubus.

Armenia caught the shell in hand and spun to the enemy. With all her strength, her hair engulfed the man in the stickiness of her webs and she tossed him and the grenade together as far as she could muster.

The Arena erupted. The round iron brandished everyone in a deep light and wave of air. Not close enough to strike them down, a smile spread across Armenia's face... as the wind swayed past her. Ready to thank the woman for her help she turned - and then stiffened.

The sun's rays snapped through the cracks of the buildings. Clouds broke apart from the bright shines, and glowing blue of the sky. The beautiful, golden eyed woman was dressed in the brilliant gleam, as the breeze swayed her silver hair. 

Haley's lip quivered, when Armenia fell to her knees then collapsed with her arms at the side of her limp figure. She went back for Egan, and drew all of her ability to sling his stiff figure over her shoulder. There was little time left... before… 

She gently laid the man in front of his woman. Taking Armenia's left arm, she draped it over her lover's back. A warm smile never left Armenia's tear stained beauty, as she strained to lean her scalp against Egan's.

"I.. sincerely.. Thank... you.." she whispered, as her eyes slowly closed.

Haley nodded, trying so hard, so immeasurably hard, to keep her trembling lips in a smile. Droplets stung her eyes, hollering at her for not letting them spill. Her fists clenched at her side, as she blinked her eyes shut and hung her head. 

In the end... there was nothing she could do. She couldn't save them...

The air whistled, and a chill ran down her spine. The Shadows.. they were coming for Armenia.. "Good bye... and thank you." Haley kept her eyes squeezed shut and turned back to the forest and ran.

The despaired female slowed to a stop... where Egan's blood stained the earth. The little note given to them by their sponsor a few feet away. Her body was still surrendering to her emotional rampage, as she turned to face the couple in front of her. 

She refused to look away. It was all she could do for their kindness, but watch on and remember every moment they existed - even this terrible one. Even as the Shadow hummed, and pulled Armenia's golden hue'd soul from her body. While the second vacuumed her disintegrating flesh into it and they puffed away. Even as Egan’s corpse shimmered away.

She swallowed and gripped her arms across her chest. _Armenia...Egan..._

Feet slapped the dirt behind her and she whirled to face her ene- Her entire tension slacked, her hands falling to her sides. _Diarmuid... Diarmuid..._

"My lady... That explosion!! Are you alright?!" His panic stricken voice was.. angels singing in her ears. He took a couple of steps toward her, eyes sucking information in from the destruction behind her, "Where are.. your allies?"

Her lips quivered upward at the corners while she slowly shook her head no.

Realization struck Diarmuid like a weapon in the gut. _They didn't make it_ , he presumed. His expression softened for the broken woman before him. He dropped his weapon and closed the gap between them. 

This must have been the first time she had experienced death so close. He had not known what transpired between them while they were separated, but he could tell it meant _something_ grave to her and he would attempt to understand. Somehow, in this short time, she had just suffered a loss, and he would be her gain. "Come here..”

Promptly, Haley buried herself in Diarmuid's embrace and finally let the bawling start. _They.. were innocent in all of this_! A woman who desperately wanted to live life as her human self, while the other was fighting for his love. Together, they sought the end that would bring them together, that was all. _They... were good people... so why...? Why were they fated to suffer so badly?_

"They're gone.. Diarmuid... I couldn't help them..." She whimpered, pushing further into his chest while he stroked the back of her head, and drifted his hand up and down her back.

Egan and Armenia... it came crashing down like the bomb that ended their enemy. This was the first time the people she sought to help... that she failed to do so. All she ever did in life since escaping her father was cure curses, and try to bring the happiness she could never have until her bounty was gone to others..

How would she save them... anyway? This... this tournament only allowed a single team victory... but still...

Diarmuid pulled away just enough to leave room for him to plant a light kiss on her forehead. He paused against her soft skin and then returned his chin to the top of her head, "You have my deepest condolences, Lady Haley."

Haley clutched him tighter at the gentle dabbing of his lips and the empathy in his light voice. That intimate gesture was heartrending. She couldn’t help but be transfixed by how greatly those few words affected her. She became straightly aware of how her affairs began to mirror that of Armenia and Egan’s.

 _Diarmuid and me... we.. could be next._ That thought: it was terrifying. If she lost Diarmuid the way that Egan and Armenia lost one another... she couldn't handle it. He was... was _everything_ to her. In their companionship he had been _her_ light in the darkness…

Haley barely registered what that meant, but assumed she was beginning to understand. Determination jarred her strength to not let this tournament take her Knight like it did Armenia. 

What the hell was fate, anyway? It was a bullshit construct. She would deny it. Whether or not Diarmuid could really be saved by the panel, she would find a way to save him. He could count on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here come the water works... I teared up writing this chapter. They became such likeable characters... but in the end...this is a tournament to death and well... death happens even among allies. WHO PUT THESE ONIONS HERE?!


	27. Doubts

Diarmuid stood with her cloaked in his arms for some time. While she huddled against him, he observed her lack of injury. All that looked at him from the torn parts of her shirt and pants was light, unscathed skin. They had healed her.. it seems. 

A few beats later, her trembling finally ceased, but the dulling of her stare remained. 

She gave him a quick squeeze, then Haley pulled away. Her stare was fixated on that note that had Egan laughing, and she finally braved to look at it. Heavily walking over, she knelt and lifted the crumpled piece of paper. She began to unravel it, as Diarmuid leered over her shoulder,

"What is this from?"

She stopped, half way, debating if she earned the right to read the final message given to them before their deaths, and shook her head. 

"A sponsor message... it was given to them along with the explosive." She said, finally unfurling the paper. Her fingers shook, reading the solemn message.

_You will die. Have Haley give the bomb to Armenia before you do, or take everyone with you._

To a dying man.. what kind of alternatives were those.. ? The tears stung her eyes again. That was his opportunity to end her. He had no obligations to her in his last moments, but in those very few seconds he made a choice. There was no outcome where he and Armenia came out alive... so he laughed and gifted her the weapon, and let herself live. She crumpled the stupid message. 

There had to be a way for the sponsors to heal him. If it were possible to seal the Observer's damage... his wounds should of been child's play. They were mocking him, and using his desperation to as another form of entertainment. They wanted to see what a hopeless man, facing death would do and in his defining last moments, he refused to the horrid decision. He laughed at their cruelty instead. He... was a damn good man, and she was not deserving of his kindness.

Because she let him die. 

Diarmuid's sudden rustling diverted her attention from the despair boiling in her mind. He retrieved the unfamiliar sword and began carving something in the dirt without a word,

"What are you doing?" Haley mumbled, tilting her head to track the path in the grime of earth that spelled out the names in the slip she tossed away.

"Honoring them," He said simply, "It is small, and the Arena will lose their names as quickly as they were written, but we shall not forget." 

Their gazes found each other, and she nodded at his kindness. He didn't even know them, but still.. he gathered probably as much as she did if not enough from the message. In whatever despair he knew she felt, he was trying to give what he could... 

Haley traced the names etched in the dirt, pinning her strained stare on the last bits of them that would ever exist. 

Finally, she said under a shallow breath, "Thank you..." 

"Come, we should not be in the open much longer, and I have to retrieve our bag." Diarmuid said, gently palming her shoulder. 

She followed alongside him in quiet. Competing emotions sparked around her mind. Anger. Sadness. _Uncertainty_. There was root that grew longer with each passing moment if it were possible to save Diarmuid's soul. The entire pace back, she kept her eyes glued to the dirt beneath her feet, only sparing a glance to make sure she wouldn't collide with the decorations of the forest. Now, she looked to the man beside her, debating. 

Should she tell him? What if his good nature would tell her to give up on him? Would he preach that if there was no way to truly save him, she should remove herself from the competition? Or would he keep the idea in the closet, as they saw the rest of the tournament through? 

Alternatively, would he not care and remain by her side like Egan wished to be with his wife? She felt heat rush to her face and shot her glance to the dawn. Even if he did wish her to stay, it wasn't in _that_ kind of way. Still.. when she was infiltrated by that demon... 

They reached the bag and Diarmuid slugged it over his shoulder. His Master was still having some sort of internal battle. Would or should he pry? In respect of her conflicting emotions, he remained silent their meander back. Guilt and remorse were nasty things clawing at his conscience. If only he was successful in exorcising that demon. It was because of his _failure_ that she had undergone the lose of her allies. 

The continued dead air was baiting him. He had to unlock the rigid coldness that was in her bleak expression from her feet, "My La-"

The world began to tremor. The Arena's quakes had Haley shifting on each foot to stay clear of the ground. The sound of pavement cracking dropped Haley's eyes to the ground that began to split underneath her swaying stature. Leaves rustled in a howling wind, and a branch so large snapped to a fall, separating her from Diarmuid.

Diarmuid drove his legs over the division and snatched his Master's legs over his arms and cradled her head before the trunk behind them hugged the dirt. Her arms encased his neck in them while the city shredded behind them. Glass cried out as a car alarm blared. Stone and grass up heaved and a few screams were drowned out by the collapsing Arena.

Crunching of trees accompanied by the floor widening its mouth to swallow the last pieces of their surroundings. Watching enemies get sucked into black voids that accumulated in the rush.. Haley couldn't believe _this_ was how they would switch the Arena around. She clutched Diarmuid tightly, so he could stab the sword into the ground before the dislodging cliff sucked them into it. Empty blackness stared up at their dangling legs.

"Holyyy shiiiiit," Haley screeched, while what left of the madness refocused around them. 

Blistering cold slapped her cheek, and the freezing wind was the least of her worries. They remained hanging, but instead of the sword being lodged in darkness, it was impaled in the decomposing snow of the mountain underneath it. 

Diarmuid grit his teeth, eyes shifting from the tundra around them and the fall that would end both of them. Already, his mind drank the information of his surroundings, formulating the best course of action. Calming the skittish lady his first priority, "My Lady... I know you needn't hear this.. but in case you do.." He adjusted his grip on her waist as she buried her face deeper into his neck, "Do not let go." 

"Please tell me you have a plan!" The wind took her voice with it, as Diarmuid smirked humorously,

"Do I not always?" 

Now was not the time for teasing, but to say she didn't appreciate his playfulness was a damn understatement. 

The blade began to slide as it was not meant to pierce a mountain nor handle their combined weight while doing so, "My Lady, I still have a knife in my left pocket.. I ask of you to grab it."

She nodded to his simple direction, squinting from the blinding snow. Slinking down his torso just enough as wind scraped against her. She dug in his pocket for the piece of cutlery and brought it into her rattling hands.

Instructing her to climb to his shoulders, she needed to try to plant the blade as close to the sword's as possible. She heaved, and dragged herself above him, careful not to use his head as leverage. She smacked the knife into the ice, and it crunched underneath it. She repeated the motion, trying not to snap the fragile end, until the knife dug into mountain's resilient base. 

She slipped down to his belly as the swords edge slouched a bit further, threatening to drop them in seconds. Now that his hand was dangling instead of clutching his Master, and she held tight - Diarmuid latched onto the handle and pulled it free and stabbed a bit lower. He pulled hand under hand, wedging the two blades in the cliff side, and dragging them to a long descent to the bottom. Going up would of been frivolous and arduous in their condition. 

Underneath the peak, he spied deep snow on the surface of land underneath a crevice. He rocked his lower half back and forth, and yanked the sword out as they both sprawled across the snow. Standing up, and pulling Haley with him, he glances at the peak. There were other grey, snow and ice covered mountains spread far and wide. The wind blew harshly, but still, the sun peaked out from the smoky clouds. He let out a breath that was easily visible.

Now that the adrenaline left his system, he felt the effects of the arctic against his thin jumper. In body, he was susceptible to wounds that mimicked the effects they would carry, but now, he seemed only slightly bothered by the frigid weather. The unsettling matter was his Master who was turning a very painful red. 

"Diar..muid... I'm freezing..." Haley said, pulling her arms into her short sleeves to hide them in her t- shirt. Trying to keep her blood flowing, she bounced in place.

Determined to avoid repeating the events that transpired when they had first met, Diarmuid unraveled buttons of his jumpsuit. Curiosity and slight confusion watched him as he untied the strings of his boots. Kicking off the cheap material, wet snow sinking into his ankle socks, he stepped out of the orange suit. 

In secret observation, Haley watched his rigid body unfold. She had seen the toned build of his chest, and the abs that sculpted his abdominal area in a clean fashion, but it stopped there. Now, the lines from his pelvis teased her from the hemline of his underwear, and the round outline in his briefs scolded her to cast her gaze to the fluffy white her feet sunk into. 

It was relieving when he stepped behind her to spread the suit open, and drape it over her shoulders. She stepped into the fabric that was a bit longer than she was, but thankfully their difference in height was only by a few inches. Diarmuid was helping her tuck the length of the pants into her boots since her hands huddled underneath the clothing. He even buttoned her from the waist up, anything to keep her from exposing her skin to the cold, he said. Her hair was pulled into his hands, and he pat the snow from it and wrapped it around her neck like a scarf. 

"A-a-are.. you.. -n-not cold?" She felt so terrible, keeping her sight at eye level to avoid any discomfort for either of them from his bareness. She glimpsed a shudder or two across his shoulder blades and worried he would be stricken by the cold. 

"I barely feel it, my Lady. I worry more for you... " He surveyed the ripped cloth where the demon previously melted the sleeve off. That god awful moment was still fresh in his memory, "We.. should keep moving."

The watch hummed, and it displayed a hologram that beamed from her chest, since her arms were folded there. It was a temperature of 10 degrees and in even smaller text underneath it, it read,

_The temperature is controlled by the Hosts. Objective: Find a place to keep warm._

She let out a breath, that puffed in the atmosphere in front of her. Now they were giving them objectives? Or was that just a warning they were going to lower it even more? Her eyes explored the mountain ledge. Walls of rock and ice, a small path that curved around the mountain with a few wooden planks, and pine trees that layered the surroundings. Just how high up were they?

Her teeth clanked together, even with Diarmuid's clothes over her own, it was still light and thin. The torn and shredded parts allowed in cold sweeps of air. In Diarmuid's way of helping, he remained at her backside, and stroked up and down the lengths of her sides to keep friction going to retain heat. She remained jittery, trying to do just the same.

The snow was an endless blanket of white stretching far and wide. It was only accompanied by the stray tree, and towering rocks on the sides. At least there was no tracking their travels, since every step appeared and disappeared just as quickly from the current of snow. The wind dusted them so harshly, they remained huddled against another not to lose sight of the other.

Haley's traction was slowing. Her head was bobbing, fighting to stay awake. She began rocking forward, and her body refused to stop shaking. She had hoped that constantly moving would be enough.. but.. the redder her cheeks got instead, accompanied by her dry, splitting lips. 

"My Lady.. there is a cave," Diarmuid said, turning her slightly, "Hang on just a bit longer." 

A rocky formation that led to the cave in the walls of the mountainside welcomed her. It was a daunting task to climb them, being that she could barely feel her limbs, but alas, her Knight let her crawl on his back. She gripped the plainness of his chest, and pressed herself firmly against him. He was freezing to the touch, and she still was not comprehending how this didn't bother him. Maybe it just felt worse because the weather was intensifying the natural coolness he always had.

Still.. 

It pained her. His body had reminders everywhere of his trouble past and hardships. The very things that led him to his untimely demise not once - but twice. Each time, the person he had faith in, and trusted, giving him the finger. She saw his memories and felt his despair as clearly as he did every time she dipped into the curse healing. His soul was hurting immeasurably each time faced with betrayal and he blamed himself. 

Now he was a semblance of death, and she, despite her efforts, might be very powerless to changing that. If what Egan assumed was true... She tensed, squeezing the pectoral muscles underneath her palms. All of this... all of this is for nothing.

In the tunnel hidden inside the mountain, Diarmuid felt her squeeze. He turned his head, worried for the woman who still seemed lost in remorse. Her eyebrows pushed together, accompanied by a gaze hallow and unfocused. She pressed him so tightly, It was as if he were to disappear if she let go. 

He sat on the ice that froze over the rocky formation of the cave, still leaving the Lady huddled over his shoulder, "My Lady.. you should rest here.. while I retain some wood from those trees scattered about."

She shook her head and clutched so tight her fingers felt like they'd snap, "Don't go..."

His breath went out. What was troubling her so deeply? He placed his hand comfortingly over the two that snared him against her, "It will only be for a short while."

In a days span, which she considered a small time, she was helpless to do anything for the allies that died helping her. If he left into the blistering cold - who knows what enemies would attack him, too. If they were anything like the menacing demon, or the soul that could control ice.. how would he fair? No, she didn't want him to risk himself, anymore. Not when the Arena did such cruel things to its participants, like leaving a damn death note. "Please stay... I-I am.. f-fine."

Only she was not. Her broken voice carried in the echoes of the cave. He knew this. Hadn't he felt so shamelessly broken before? He wanted desperately to stay and give her the condolences she needed to be better but...

She was dangerously stricken with frost and rigorously shaking. Her emotional comfort needed to wait until he could build as much heat to save her from the hypothermia that threatened to strike them a second time. 

He gently pulled her hands from him and slid her to the ground. He turned to her and gripped those trembling hands in his, "I cannot, but I shall return. I swear it, my Lady."

Her lip quivered as those glassy eyes tore him apart. What was ever the matter? Indeed something must of happened while they were separated. Was the death of those two so overbearing? He had imagined she was stricken by the first time seeing those die before her.. however this stained reaction felt there was more to it than he knew. 

He would be okay, right? There was no way he would let what she allowed happen to Armenia and Egan plague them, too. He would come back, arms full of wood topped with snow that melted into his hair. Then, they would huddle by the fire she knew he knowledgeably would make. They would wait out the storm, and have seven to eight days remaining to see the stadium filled with souls engaged in their damn tournament..

The stupid challenge that would either sink his soul into the depths of hell or save him in some way. They were to go their own ways, then.. But until that destined day - she wanted him to be safe. To remain by her side as she did for him. Her hand trembled to his cheek and brought his forehead to hers, "I-I don't want to l-lose you. So p-please be careful." 

Her voice was like glass, sharp and broken. He was.. just going to collect logs for a fire. Sure, an ordeal or two may surface but she would not _lose_ him. She had always worried for his safety, but this felt a little extreme. 

"Of course." He debated for a second, to sink a bit lower. Even chapped, and losing color, her lips still called for him to meet them. Assure her he would stay and be alright. He grappled with the urge, and just gave her his best, reassuring smile. He couldn't. He was unsure of her feelings for him, but assumed they weren't mutual. That this episode she was having would pass with a little more comfort and conversation. They... were two different beings after all and he was but a fool to think otherwise. 

She let her hands drop, and pulled them back underneath her shirt to look limbless once more. She couldn't keep him hostage here.. that might bring about the end she feared, too. The couple previously thought they were safe stationed in a single spot - until they weren't. Until the enemy found a way through the barricades they put up and ended them just as quick. 

"When I return, we shall talk.. I fear you have things you have yet to tell me." He said, there was dulled silence that grabbed his attention, and he almost missed the tiny nod she gave him in response. He pat the top of her head.

He hesitated, as if he was to push further, but Haley kept her focus on the chipped ground. She knew he was gone when the footsteps that lingered further away disappeared into the wind 

There were a plethora of things to tell him. The question was if she was going to be able to. All she wanted to do was stand by a soul's side and offer them her abilities to help them in a contest of their own strength. Heal the curse that embedded itself deep within that person's being. Not this. Not get attached to that very person, and lean on him in ways she did no other. Not this masterful manipulation that was this tournament of lies. 

Hell, saying that.. Egan easily could of been lying himself. He might have planted the seeds to overgrow and clog her judgement. For what purpose, though? Even when he spoke, the intentions never leaked such a thing. It was paranoia and hope that was a rushing current in her thoughts. 

It was because she hoped he was brain washing her, that she knew there was some sort of truth in his words. Whether or not he was right, was still the problem. Could the reason they allowed him to be eliminated so easily was because the Hosts and Sponsors did not want him spreading the rumor further? 

Damn it all. She buried her face into the knees she raised, the scent of Diarmuid lingering on his jumper. She should never of let him leave. If what she thought was true - That would mean... they were next. 

She peeked at the whining exit, her shivering getting the better of her. Should she go after him? No... that would be pointless because just like with Armenia and Egan, there would be nothing she could do. She would remain a helpless little damn maiden... and the thought of that made her sink. She was strong, and her mental prowess could easily save Diarmuid... 

Thinking that way.. the abilities other Detainers had were probably capable of doing the same thing. The fact they were to be useless and trapped here until the round's end even if their friends _died_ protecting them... was it their plan to make it more impossible to reach the goal? Were they doing that because of the impossibility of the reward if they won? Were they finding ways to get rid of them...? If that were their intent.. All she thought in that moment was one damn thing. 

The damn Hosts could go to Hell, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter sucks. I am sorry. I imagined this much better than I wrote it. I am sorry for such yuck, but uh... the mountain won't last forever? Also, Haley is 5'6 if anyone is wondering and Diarmuid is 6'0


	28. Diarmuid's Adventure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long! I am alive, I swear! Enjoy!

The bareness of his back to the boots that overlapped his ankles brought about shameless ridiculousness. He was upholding his codes of chivalry, and would do anything for his lady. Although.. too bad it ended in his underwear and being adorned by snow, but that's besides the point.

The issue was dragging himself through the thick blocks of snow, and the wind that almost toppled him over. If it weren't for the link they shared giving him her location - he would be lost in the blizzard that drowned out all surroundings. 

What a find it truly was to come across the trunks of trees toppled over another. The twigs that lay about were a bonus. Hacking away with the sword, and plucking the bits needed to make the best of fires, this was all rather.. simple. Suspiciously so. Where were the other competitors? Surely he wasn't the only one scouting?

As if he were asking the Gods to make his plight more interesting - camouflaged perfectly in the sleet - was a grumbling giant. With a face imitating that of an ape, and nostrils flaring it roared. Rose colored fists pounded its matching fuzzy thorax before striking the snow from where Diarmuid leaped away from. 

Dropping his arm's contents but still squeezing his swords handle he readied to strike the massive monster towering feet above him. He would wait for an attack, as his own movements would be too hindered. 

The entire mountain was on a rampage from the charge it took towards Diarmuid. The deep cushion his feet enclosed in were the only things keeping him from falling over. It grabbed for his waist at the right side and he swung the sword down to block his wide arm from nabbing him there. The Snowman's other hand came down like a hammer that Diarmuid caught under a shaking wrist. 

The monster leveled his foot for his gut as anticipated and Diarmuid rode the force to the air and angled the sword in his drop dead center in the eye and parts of its azure face. His own features were sprinkled with crimson while his ears were ringing from the beastly cry accompanying his attack. 

Remorse was not something he was about to entertain, and worked the edge of the blade down the snowman in a stomping fit. 

When the rotund digits scraped along his exposed navel, and the behemoth threw himself forwards so hard - Diarmuid was launched, the sword being flung from his grip. Even with a split face, and gore streaming down to color the snow in red, it carried on. Fists made, it pounded for Diarmuid's head. He rolled out of the way, but his leg was caught in it's heavy grip and he was slammed every which way.

If not for the sheets of snow to absorb the shocks, his bones easily would have been shattered from the force this thing carried. With no weapon to drive into it - he mustered his strength to curl upward, mid slam, to latch onto the empty eye socket. He dug his hand as deep into the wound and when the release of his ankle came - he swung his torso up and over before the flailing hands could nab him again. 

Strangling the solid neck with his legs, Diarmuid yanked it back and discharged before the monster's back sunk into the snow. He quickly nabbed the sword that was almost concealed entirely by the arena's weather. He sprang to gorge out the guts that leveled his head's hairline just as it readied to strike him again. 

He stabbed at it's rock hard torso repeatedly, all the while jumping back and forward to outmaneuver its ceaseless swinging. 

As the blood rained down from the slowing beast, Diarmuid readied his final strike. He would vault over the thing and work the sword down and out its head through the gash. No sooner had he thought the idea, did the mountain have other plans for his little skirmish.

Competition roared its ugly head, and of course,  _ of course _ it was a triggering, maddening, former Master and his Detainer. Why not have them show their nasty faces while being accompanied by a damn thrill of their own? 

This Round's rules were sung in his head, "The Detainers are the Targets if you would like a reward for the end game." 

The blood that was missing in his veins pumped anyhow, and the rosebuds of rage bloomed. This was his chance to-

His heart throbbed in his chest. Diarmuid needed to get the hell out of there, and fast. A partial fuel to the curse was here and it was ready to ignite the flames and bury him in a choice that would ruin his relations with the Lady. She would never allow him in her heart if he went against his words to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. His pride as a Knight was walking on the tight rope alongside that promise. 

Damn it all. Fleeing would only have the giant coupled with the Undead that reared Kayneth and his Detainer follow him straight back to Haley. He grit his teeth, dodging the crashing wave of knuckles. 

Kayneth could not thank the Gods enough for this splendid opportunity before him. When his alarms went off of an enemy in his territory: He did not think these...roughians would be his opponents. A monster made of Snow, something he could work with against the Undead. He’d also be clearing some dead weight.

“Sir, that is Hal-” Kayneth’s hand shot up, cutting the monkey behind his back’s husk voice off,

“I know, Darius.” He knew what to do with this prospect in front of him. He would keep his blasted arrangement while having his own fun. Kayneth flashed his mountain suited Detainer a wide grin. “I’ll pay my little acquaintance with a spectacle he will not forget.” 

Inclining his fuzzy hooded head to Lord El-Melloi, Darius took a few cautious steps back, boots crunching in the snow. He lifted the black goggles that shielded him from the blizzard to view his plan in action. He wanted to witness the Magus do his handy work. He never ceases to amaze him with the mastery of crafts in his arsenal.

The Snowman was Kayneth’s first obstacle. The gorilla looking thing of snow is damaged, but repairable. The Volumen Hydrargyrum manifested as hard iron along the injuries palating him with armor. The balance of water in its composition was then easily manipulated by the Great, Lord El-Melloi.

The look on the lowly former Servant’s face was priceless. Clearly Diarmuid was not expecting that he’d evoke evil spirits of frozen souls that died on the permafrost to possess the zombies and snowman to bring them under his control. 

Masterfully, the wake of influenced beasts, like bees, swarmed the single enemy. It was a great sight, seeing his pathetic hide struggle against his magnificent pawns.

This round of the Arena greatly complemented the skills that Kayneth possessed. That, coinciding with the great Sponsor he had giving him the viles necessary for his magic even better. He was a force to reckon with, the traitorous knight could do nothing in a domain such as this against him. 

If only that were as true as he imagined. The blasted man was insistent on tackling and slicing down the Undead that circled him. He used the Giant’s missed swings to cripple meek bodies. 

Kayneth sucked his teeth, his aquatic eyes wandered the cloak of white coated in rolling heads. He smoothed the tight cut of blonde hair back with his fingers. Diarmuid was successfully striking down the creatures Kayneth had hoped he’d become. 

He was too quick for the ice giant now weighted down in mercury. Even with the strong swings with precise accuracy weren’t enough to level the stupid Diarmuid. That was fine, he would skewer him with his Volumen blades. 

He shot them repeatedly. The charcoal manifestations missing vital points, but cracking the ludicrously bare arms and torso. Why was the creeten naked, again? Now that he was in a strange situation that was his absurdity, where was the damn woman, too?

Tch, the degenerate who did nothing but seduce not just one—not even two— but now three women to his side was despicable. He probably was disrobed purposefully for that reason, to further entrance her. Had he no shame at all?

It would not be his obligation to be concerned for his Detainer if not for the stakes he scuffled with. Hell was a damning place he was not about to entertain. Such a despicable place was meant for the obscene scoundrel that just wedged the sword he had deep into the jugular that was left unguarded, causing the surprised living organism to collapse in death.

Abruptly, the snowman leveled itself to a stand once more to give chase. Even dead, it’s body was useful. Hefty steps ushered to the Knight that charged forward for Kayneth. 

_ Blast that pile of trash _ . Kayneth brought up the membrane of mercury to create a steel shield to block the collection of metal that Diarmuid caught and flung back his way.  _ Why the hell won’t he forsake himself?! _

“Scalp!” Kayneth barked, the mercury taking a blob like form so it could cut corners in its molecular state. 

His hands rolled into fists when the agility performed by the wretch had him rolling in the snow. He was way too close, and kicked up the surface beneath their feet in an attempt to blind him.

“You think such tricks are enough, you vile vermin!?” 

It was easy to break down the scattered bits of ice water. He was ready to impale the dishonored Knight—but as his piercing discolored eyes leveled with his own—the bloke veered right. 

Kayneth was never the target in his fierce, rapid approach. A miscalculation he was not fast enough to deflect. 

Diarmuid aimed for Darius whose emerald eyes widened. 

\--------------------------------

He was ashamed of the impromptu decision to feint an attack on Kayneth. But when he saw the space that emitted between them when his Detainer gave him the leeway.. It became clear what he regrettably had to do.

The fortified structure he protected himself in would be impossible to penetrate given his weapon and physique. However…

Everytime the Englishman prompted the defense, it never was wide enough to protect both him and his Detainer. He left the man he was sworn to protect wide open each time. An arrogant mistake.

Diarmuid measured the distance between enemies and timed his offensive jolt to level them both with surprise. He drove the blade through the bundled man’s midriff, crimson petals flowered the terrain in a spurt. 

He rang his arm around the waist of the stocky man and directed the blade from his interior to level it under the throat. 

He was trembling with uncertainty. Kayneth was a devastating threat that endangered his mentality while also the Lady quivering in the mountain cave. Each second that he let tick by could be her untimely end. 

The man was stiff as a board against him, while Kayneth’s nostrils were flaring. In his own, pounding skull, Diarmuid battled the urges to make a move with finality. The seering agenda laced with bitterness to plunge his betrayer into the pits of Hell drowned out the world. 

His heart thundered in his ears. The wind was scratching at his skin, while the thick, warm coat the man wore brushed up against his exposed self. This was his chance. He could remove Kayneth from the tournament right here.

All he had to do was slice.

“Release him, filth!” Spit Kayneth, ready to upheave the foundation underneath him. 

Feeling the snow melt beneath his feet, Diarmuid leaped further back into the clearing on top of the mountain, his hostage in tow. Every vile thought that crossed his mind blackened his vision. 

“Re-think this— Maybe we could work something out.” The man choked out against the silver that drew red from his chin. 

Indeed they would  _ not  _ discuss such things. Not with the corpse of a Giant accompanied by an infuriated Magus that had the utensils to repeat that betrayal once again. He would never forgive nor trust that inhuman monster.

He needed to escape and thwart his enemies.  _ Now _ . Kayneth drew all the power into the liquid he was gifted in pillars around him. He would find a way to break his Detainer free from his grasp before he bled to his death from the gap in his torso.

But his promise to Haley. Would this situation be justifiable enough to her and himself? Was there truly  _ nothing _ else he could possibly do to thwart Kayneth enough to return to her without blood staining his hands? With his chivalry, honor and pride in tact?

That were impossible. Even though his internal rage beckoned him to break down the two here and now. End Kayneth as he deserves, it was not the way he did things. It was downright despicable to end someone through the means of a hostage. Didn’t the same thought cross his mind when that heinous Kiritsugu had stolen Kayneth’s Mistress? 

He tossed the man like scrap into the snow and skewered Kayneth with his stare. He had no words for the male whose eyebrows lowered so far they would drop from his face entirely. Though now he had his distance, and he would find his way down the ledges to circle back to the Lady.

The mountain roared in response to Diarmuid’s speedy departure. Behind him, the frozen wave of snow trampled down the trees and gravel sliding down the mountain.

An avalanche of all things— could his former Master sink any lower, or was he just this desperate to remove him from the competition? Kayneth and his Detainer only survived their encounter because he refused to finish their duel in the manner that was most available to him.

Now, the landscape warped the slopes behind him as he dragged himself down the side of the mountain to the next portion that allowed foot travel. He sprinted across the land  perpendicular of the cascade to avoid its wide path. 

Unfortunately for Diarmuid, his speed was not enough for the monstrous wave was much too grave. To prevent getting buried under mounds of snow along the other competitors he saw drown in it, he utilized all of his muscles to swim along with the current.

It was a battle against the descent until he was finally mounted by the thick snow and buried. Thankfully for him, the magic that enhanced his form was capable enough to excavate out. 

His breath tinged the air from the emotional and physical roller coaster. He flicked the powders on his skin off, and adjusted his underwear to the correct position. He was lucky to not have sustained any detrimental injuries. Not that he didn’t incur enough already. 

Well, at least he had plentiful amounts of wood in the debri to bring to the cave. The dilemma was ascending without any other hiccups. He wanted not to be so distanced from the Lady, but that was deftly denied. 

_ Master, are you safe? _ He asked, hoping in his debacle he hadn’t set her up for disaster. 

_ I.. there.. Was an Avalanche. I'm trapped in here. Did.. something happen? You okay?! _

To be fair, that was not as problematic as he worried, unless an enemy was determined to break through the barriers to the cave. That was if they even suspected it were there, now that it is covered.

_ I managed to survive it. It.. might be a bit of time before I reach you… are you fairing alright despite the cold?  _

_ Kind of.. Diarmuid.. Just get back to me right away.. Okay?  _ Her thoughts to him were dripping with distress. He best did as she asked. 

He angled his head, eyes scaling the mountain. The matter was just  _ how. _

\--------------------------------

It felt like an eternity had passed before Diarmuid acknowledged he was even close to Haley’s location. Her shivers were near earthquakes, and Diarmuid still had to drill his way through the thick blockade. It was like he was at an archaeological site on the hunt for treasure. 

_ Diarmuid… I..I’m getting really tired.  _ Her body ached in the winter weather as she clenched and unclenched her hands, trying to keep the feeling in their tips. 

_ Just a bit more time is needed. I am breaking through as we speak. There are things you must know about this avalanche as well…  _ Admittedly, he wanted to bury what transpired deep within the mounds of soft ice, but her being awake was imperative to prevent resigning to the cold. 

_ It was not… the best of transgressions for me. _

With the oath he pledged as a Knight strung up like a ragdoll from his encounter, and remaining honest with her, he figured telling her the tale would help her be lively again. Not necessarily in the best of ways, but her life was more important than his regret.

_ I.. don’t understand..?  _ Balancing herself on the cold ice that layered the walls of the small cavern, Haley stood upright. 

She paced again, rubbing her hands up and down from her waist up. 

_ Regrettably, my curse.. Surfaced again with the sight of Kayneth. I.. was unsure of what best to do. With you being so close, and with the enemies that he commanded, I was left no choice but to injure his Detainer.  _

Haley pressed her back along the wall and tilted her head to rest against the rough surface,

_ Enemies he commanded?  _

_ Indeed. He had Undead as well as a Giant of snow under his control. It had crossed my mind in a fit of anger to end them both there, and in a rather unhonorable way. I am ashamed. _

That was Kayneth’s necromancy. If she remembered correctly, Magus with that ability could do extraordinary things, especially in a pithole like this. There were other things that were noted about him in the files of the Association, but she didn’t look too far into them. 

It was Diarmuid’s information that she even gave Lord El-Melloi’s profile a skimming read. An extraordinarily multi-talented man in Magecraft, who seemed to corner Diarmuid to the point of desperation if he was targeting the Detainer…

Something he swore on his honor not to do in lines with his code as a Knight and unless the situation called for it. Even then, she wanted him to expend all options but it seemed his curse got in the way of that. Or did it? He didn’t exactly finish with the details...

_ You… didn’t.. Though, right?  _

_ I.. no.  _ He fled instead. Whether that was cowardice or intelligent was undecided. 

_ I remember a time when chivalry was thrown away under the rage of your curse. The person’s throat was in your grasp if I recall, and it required some magic power of persuasion to stop you.  _ Haley was actually impressed. 

In the past, she was always responsible for drowning out the seething within him. If he was able to accomplish that himself, that meant he was returning to his usual demeanor, even if he made… questionable decisions beforehand. 

_ So… if you alone were responsible, then you did well. I can only be glad you stopped yourself. _

His plowing stalled. In his previous flares of the madness inside him that snuck into the beats of his heart, he was relatively uncontrollable. Just the delusion or slightest hint of doubt was adequate enough to send him spiraling into a rage filled monster. 

Haley had crinkled under the brunt force of it… but not Kayneth. 

His lip crept up at the corner, and he returned to his pummeling. In other moments soon after her healing, time and time again he was met with the enemies that dragged his mental state through the mud, and triggered the vulgarity. 

In truth, he wanted to do vile, despicable things, but whether it be her constant loyalty and consideration for him, or his own self awareness, it drew him away each time. Against Kayneth, it was the very thought of her and what he swore that he retained his principles. 

_ You certainly are responsible as well. Without your magic and dedication… I might not be as I am now. _

_ Only a little..  _ Haley admitted, because in the end her magic alone was enough to qualm the barricades of his emotions. 

If only.. If only breaking down the evils that corrupted him was enough to release the chains of the Underworld. She wrapped her arms around her chest in line with the thought. None of this mattered if it meant he was still… destined to an eternity of torment. 

It was a discouraging feeling.. The wonder if any of it is worth it at all. Her biggest benefit of healing others’ turmoil was the joyous melodies they sang in their happiness. They were like children on Christmas, getting the biggest and best gifts on their wish lists when the curses were lifted. 

To see Diarmuid finally experience that success and feel free from the dark energy eating away at him, just to slap him in the face the harsh reality his soul was to be tortured.. It was just as cruel as his wanting to not repeat his mistakes prior to just having his past life repeat again.

If all of this… was a ruse that would not end in his salvation.. Then what was all of this really for? 

“Master?”

Haley’s wide eyes landed on Diarmuid, who strolled into the cave, flicking droplets of snow from his arms and fingers. All the while, he adjusted the heavy wood in his arms and dropped them to his feet. 

His entrance distracted her from the doubt clouding her thoughts,

“Jeez… you.. Look so silly like that.” She said quietly, casting her gaze to the crystals that hung from the cave’s upper walls. 

“Anything for my Lady to keep warm.” He said with a cheeky grin, making quick work of the logs at his knees. 

She chuckled, sliding down the wall, “Just... hurry with the fire...will ya?” 

His eyes flickered to her with a flashy smile and he worked his magic to finally illuminate the cave with a flame. 

Finally, as she started to drift in and out of sleep, her palms leveled before the cackling fire, absorbing the heat as her own. Their bag was lounged in the corner, and Diarmuid offered bottled water, or the bag of chips which she declined. 

Despite that she should probably be famished, or dehydrated- she was too distraught over the past events that still drowned her sentiments. 

Always right on the money, Diarmuid questioned her newly found silence as she vacuously studied the sparks from the fire. 

“My Lady, What has been troubling you?” 

If only spilling the details from the cup of despair she was sipping from was so easy to tell. She still wavered with what to tell him. Each option had their risks, the worst being resetting them to the first day they met when she omitted the reward she’d receive at the end of this. 

Even so… it was not just that. She was helpless with many things in life, but never did it lead to the deaths of anyone. Never did she decide one's life was more important than the other.

She could have saved them. All she had to do was heal Egan.. She was reputable enough for sure to seal that wound to extend Egan’s life for Armenia to utilize the explosive. 

It was just the thought of getting herself disqualified in the process, having Diarmuid being the collateral damage that she let good people… _ die. _ She did not have the right to make that decision, and yet it was placed in her lap. 

There was cruelty in the decisions she made, however light they were. Then watching the light go out in Armenia’s eyes, as she drew the love of her life close—

“Diarmuid.. I don’t want to lose you.” She buried her face in the knees she drew close. “Not in this place. Not to the stupid underworld. Not like how the couple I was with lost each other.” 

“I.. Lady Haley..” Diarmuid was stumped on what to say. This was not what he had expected to be the root of her worries.

What  _ was  _ he supposed to reply? Would he relay he felt the same? But there… was no guaranteeing his safety from the end that called to him. Even the tournament left no answers on what would happen to his soul should they win. 

Then.. there was the matter of the couple she spoke of. He knew not of their relations until she brought it about now. 

“I.. am afraid I do not know how the events transpired for you to say such things..” He murmured, his voice being carried in the cave. 

“It… was awful. They.. were innocent people. Just trying to stay together, until the enemy came and stole their lives from them, and.. There was not a damn thing I could do about it that wouldn’t risk me losing you.” Her fist crashed against the icy ground beneath them, “I.. weighed my connection with you above the lives of other people.. And it's so messed up!”

Diarmuid changed position from being on the other side of the fire to placing himself right next to her side to draw her into his arms. She was tormenting herself over evils she could not control, and he could not allow that. 

“Your heart is splendid, Lady Haley. You welcome so many into it,” He said admirably, “I.. I can only tell you.. Tell you that you cannot blame yourself as you are. If.. you would have stepped in, you would not a clue what the punishment would have been...

Given the history of the Arena thus far, I dare say that if you attempted to help them, you all might have suffered..”

She threw her arms around his midriff and adjusted herself entirely into his lap. It wasn’t just that.. In the pits of her guilt, she knew that listening to Egan’s final wish to not heal them was the right decision in the end.. Even so..

“Still… that.. Could be us, Diarmuid. Don’t you.. Get that..? We.. could be next.” She refused to meet what she knew was his worried expression. 

His eyes softened, and he patted the length of her hair, “Only if we allow it. We must continue our fight to the very end.. Because I.. wish for you to remain by side until then.”

Unfocused, crystal eyes raised to the brilliant features of the man whose gentle eyes only gleamed back. It was in that moment that Haley heavily deliberated what all of their words and the kick drum beating faster in her chest meant. 

Here, in the makeshift cave of the Arena, with the blizzard whispering to her to find out, and the fire steadily watching for the next move of either of them; she stilled. Even with the curse lingering in those honey eyes, and the charming smile that probably made other women swoon, all she could muster was cradling herself against him and resting her head into his belly.

It was just the fatigue, his reciprocation and the strain of worry he would be gone that drew her towards him, and nothing else. Because it was anything else.. They were in more trouble than Haley refused to admit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the writers block hit hard this chapter. I knew WHAT I wanted to write, but not HOW to write it. I am still iffy on that final scene, but it came across closely to what I was aiming for. I, just like the characters, though, cannot wait for 10 days to be over lol


	29. The Canyon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so damned sorry this took so long!

Haley’s momentary pause seemed all too familiar. A sliver of doubt knocked at the door in Diarmuid’s mind that he should be weary. And he was, because the lovespot was still atrociously active. 

However, the cloudiness in her gander was nothing short of heartfelt hope tangled with the hair of… mutual fondness. In the pit of his gut, he thought it to be _affection_. She snuggled against him— was that indication enough?

Alternatively, Haley’s experiences have weighed her down as of late, and she sunk into him for solace more and more these days. Her reactions were justifiable enough to just be seeking him for pure consolation.

Diarmuid combed his fingers in her soft locks, while she rested across his knees. Her tiny hand was crumpled in a fist under her chin, while the other slacked at her center. There were pockets of dark under her shut eyes which the fire’s flickering light brightened.

He believed this to be the most vulnerable she has appeared to him thus far. At a time, he would not have even considered the thought to allow this. Not with those troubles of his past snaking their way into the present more often than he would appreciate. In spite of that, he indulged her cry for closeness when she so virtuously declared her terrors of death separating them.

Staying together was his only desire as of late, coupled with her safety. In her little spout, she shared the same sentiments, albeit hers were more of unease. 

Their wristwatch snug around Haley’s wrist under his garments was something he quickly sneaked a peek at. 334 hours. He went over how modern times worked and came up with.. Fourteen days? That felt like such a small amount of time, if not for the fact they spent every waking hour with one another. It was not as if it were a bother. 

Somewhere behind him, a drop of water accompanied the howling wind outside and the crinkle from the fire. It had been quite the time that she was asleep, only adjusting herself when Diarmuid fidgeted underneath her.

Something was off in the atmosphere. He slowly unlined himself from her, crossing her arms underneath her head to inspect what tickled his sharpened senses. The furious gusts of wind froze in place, the flakes unnaturally sitting in the air. 

Turning his back to the exit of the cave, Diarmuid hung their duffel bag over his shoulder. Intuition said to gather what they had. He knelt and lifted the sword by the handle, keeping the blade staring at the ground. 

“My Lady..” He said, rustling her shoulder, “Please wake, I believe there to be trouble.”

Pushing onto her elbows, Haley gave Diarmuid a questioning look. For one, she didn’t think it was nice for him to let her sleep on the cold, solid ground, and two.. What trouble? Everything seemed—

The roof of the cave rained on them, crushing the fire out in a blink. Before either could react, the shower of rock snared Haley’s shoulder underneath it. It was not large nor heavy enough that she couldn’t push it off, but the pop—and pain following there after—indicated it popped her shoulder. 

On the other hand, Diarmuid was knocked back by the quake. Being drizzled by the in-collapsing tunnel, and scooping Haley over his shoulder, he made the sprint. Dodging the spray ice and gravel, they tumbled out of the cave just before it completely closed in on itself.

The sky had turned pitch black once more, as the mountain’s shape molded into itself, and the speckles of snow blinked into a different hue. The landscape engulfed in darkness shined blindingly bright, before the remastered Arena brought heat to their flustered faces.

Haley slipped from Diarmuid’s tight hold, the back of her hand shielding her eyes from the massive white that dimmed to a bright orange and blue.

Well, she wasn’t freezing, anymore. 

In a quick exchange of garments—while also cautious of the blaring red on Haley’s shoulder—Diarmuid rolled the sleeves of the tattered jumpsuit to the dent before his shoulders. Golden sprinkles sneaked their way into his boots during the swap, and the sun beat down on him harder than any opponent. A third change in scenery now, over the span of two sun downs.

“Now _that’s_ a view..” Haley whispered with slight awe. “I don’t know if the Host’s give a damn about what I have to say but… This is _so_ cool.”

Diarmuid accompanied Haley marveling at her side to the plains of flat top mountains with divots to create slopes and canyons spreading far into the distance. A lengthy ways down there was a river in the split between the two walls of elevation, trees stippled along the rocky slopes. In the split, the sun’s rays radiate in beams, bringing about a red hue.

How a masterful sight as this was scrunched down into the Coliseum they occupied Diarmuid did not know, but it was rewarding. There was nothing as spectacular as this from his day that he had experienced.

Haley’s shoulders rolled, as the haunting pain from the Arena’s transformation called her attention from the view to them. In conjunction with her injured shoulder, a headache gradually increased. The transition from frigid cold to desert heat finally set in to her body’s confusion. 

A sparing glance revealed that Diarmuid had new lesions begging her to heal them. He must have attained them when indulging Kayneth in battle. Something he fled from with her in mind, as grueling as that was for a warrior such as he. 

Haley has come to value the subtle—yet effective—ways Diarmuid puts aside how he’d like to treat the scenario, to something befitting both of them.. Okay, mostly her, but still. That took a tremendous amount of loyalty, and she held her Knight’s delicate—and slightly fragile— nature in the grasps of her own volition. 

Her fists clenched so hard her knuckles turned white. Diarmuid became a companion she adored thanks to his righteous personality and strong convictions. He bore her burdens upon himself despite their consequences inadvertently endangering the outcome of his fate. Someone like him deserved the world.

And yet the disgusting torturous tournament was meddling with his spirit like it held zero worth. 

A calming sigh breathed through Haley’s lips. In the panel’s defense, she signed up for this through her own volition, and this reflection did nothing to progress them further. It only rattled her thoughts and threatened their safety. 

Glimpsing down the canyon trails, Haley saw mottling of orange scattered about. She and Diarmuid were on display standing off this portion of the cliff. If one of the competitors had a bow or gun, their position begged to get them shot down. In correlation with that idea, something else was nagging away.

“Hey Diarmuid… I have to go to the bathroom.”

The look on Diarmuid’s face was priceless.

\------------------------------------

It was almost unfair to the competition that the Heroic Spirit Medea was involved as a Detainer in the tournament. These trials had no name nor value until it involved her dearest lover, Souichirou Kuzuki. 

When that wizard was mingled with Counter Guardians, the Greek Spirit could not resist eavesdropping on their intense conversations. The Norse God of Mischief found his way through the barriers of the Underworld and worked quite the deal with Underworld’s Master himself. 

Not wanting to sit in a different storing system for Heroic Spirits, as the Throne outside of time repaired itself—she meddled into the tournament only to find that her darling had been destined to the Underworld for the crimes he had done in his past. With the other Heroes of Legend having their own little fun, Medea bargained with Athena—a fellow Greek Legend—to partake to save him. 

With the backing of the panel and her magical prois, it was only a matter of time before she would bring their love to triumph. Twas a shame they didn’t just grant her victory solely based on her involvement in the damned thing. The only challenge that befitted her talents was the events against the Panel members themselves.

How sly of them: To further weed out the damned by putting them against the very epic Spirits themselves. Her match against her Grail War counterpart—The Dog of Culainn— was combat she wouldn’t neglect to retain. Well, unless she were to ever be summoned again. 

What was infuriating was that the Host’s stripped her of Rule Breaker this particular event. They intended to keep the Arena fair. _What rubbish._ The genuine vindication was evident: Those seven monstrosities knew with her power she could obliterate the competition with ease. 

The half nymph sighed, eyeballing the hunk of man wearily inspecting the outside of their new pillar fortress. The usually dark outfitted male looked beautiful to her, even in the ratty orange jumpsuit. The cold pretense of a soul actually quite deeply regretted his past, and was lost in life on how to make amends. He now suffered in this pithole for his actions as an assassin in earlier life.

”Caster, there, walking along the cliff side,” Kuzuki pointed an adamant finger to the pair above them, “They will be at our left side. I will strike them from behind.” 

The proclamation fell upon deaf ears. Arrested by abrupt fatigue, Medea’s vision was seized by murkiness. Limbs felt absent upon attempting motion. _What in the world?_

_Witch_

_Witch_

_Witch_

The words assaulted Medea’s psyche like invisible fists. In a wink her purple cape was peeled away, leaving only the foot long, violet dress. Periwinkle bum long hair reduces itself to a short cut at the neck. 

A low rumble spread through charcoal colored clouds and a salty breeze caressed the woman’s cheek. Palms turned upward to greet confused, orchid eyes. Bewildered, the crashing waves snapped Medea’s smaller frame out of the trance overtaking her.

A crinkle in the sand slowly began sinking sandal feet. Curses and screams soundlessly mouthed through purple lips, inaudible in the distortion of the dream world. The woman was trapped, gasping for air in her lungs that was replaced with contents of the beachfront.

Asphyxia burning in Medea’s chest, sand scratching at her sensitive orbs, and now saltwater gushing into her rampaging figure, she struggled for any sort of relief. She clawed at the sand and wiggled to be set free from submerging further into sand and seawater.

_Witch_

_Witch_

_Witch_

Familiar voices hissed the words, having the woman recoil from their poisonous wrath. Medea thrashed about in this strange void, now livid from the insults. _She was no damn witch!_ The sinkhole warped, finally releasing its captive to _fall, fall, fall,_ seeping into the blackened abyss as if rejecting that very statement. 

Bleak, astounding memories harassed the depths of the enchantress’ mind. A tool of mere use to Aphrodite. Forced to betray and take the lives of her family. Returning to the man she loved only to be rejected and shunned as he found a more suitable wife. Then tossed to the world when no longer of use.

As if the barrage of the Greek’s life was not enough torment: The slapping her back made against the strange end of this tortuous realm disintegrated her body. Shards of her appearance scattered about the dark land leaving nothing but anguish in her nervous system. She was still alive, feeling every bit of her nerves go into shock. 

Slowly, her form began to rekindle itself, each block of her figure coming together like a strange, obscured puzzle. A loud, consistent rattle similar that of a rattlesnake answers the fragmented pieces with a horde of scorpions. 

The insects began devouring the bits placed about, bringing forth yet another agony. Every nerve of her being felt like it was being torn apart by a beast. This… wasn’t real. It _couldn’t_ be. Her and her beloved were just conversing in the rocky dunes of the canyon. 

“Souichirou-Sama…” The woman’s soft voice was carried in the realm. 

An image of a man with dark, steel eyes, high cheekbones and a slender chin appeared just out of reach. His all black suited attire was snug to his already tight figure. A school teacher, a past assassin, the love who gave Medea everything she ever wished for. Kindness, forgiveness, loyalty, _love._

“Souichirou…!” The woman called out again, but the man turned away to the half of her arm that reached for his fond touch, “No...why... ?!”

It was the lack of answer that brought the woman to tears. The blatant disregard with a simple show of back gave a clear, rejecting answer. The man’s frame was swallowed by deep flames. Skin rolled down his body into a pool of thick mud causing the woman to screech,

“Souichirou! No, Souichirou!!!”

“Caster...” His voice was cool and smooth as it always was, as Medea desperately clawed at the air with her mangled figure,

“SOUICHIROU!!!”

“Caster..”

She begged the Gods not to take him, not torture him as she was.

“Caster..!”

Not her darling Souichirou!

“MEDEA!!” 

Eyelids peeled open, revealing blown, amethyst pupils. Shooting forward onto her feet like a bullet, the Heroic Spirit wildly searched for their sweetheart. What she found was a grotesque battlefield of broken corpses, and pummeled earth. Clearly the work of those brass like fists Souichirou fought with, and whatever the enemy concocted.

Bewildered, Medea turned to the voice calling her name, knees pathetically quivering like they’d been struggling to hold her very form. “Souichirou… what in the world happened?!”

“The enemy had magic that drains those of mana by infiltrating their mind. Caster, I am sorry it took so long to subdue them.” Souichirou said in a flat tone dyed with slight worry.

When Medea had fallen unconscious, the former school teacher targeted the rivals in the tournament above them. It was quick work crushing the latter’s skull, however, he had not realized the enemy he defeated was in an alliance with another. 

The foe Magus took refuge somewhere in the gorge. Finding them took ample time. Souichirou had to break through their defenses to end the Detainer so he could ensure Medea’s release from the dream drain. It seemed the Forsaken was only capable of tackling one opponent at a time, thus why he was proficient in-taking them down after a couple of attempts.

Medea’s exasperated sigh was so strong it could blow down the entire mountain like those folk tales of the wolf and pigs. The stale expression the man always wore never left, even as Medea swung her arms around the taller figure. 

For Heaven’s sake, Souichirou would never turn away. What wretched, stupid thinking. He would be by her side. _Always_. 

\-----------------------------------------

The lowering full moon was shrouded in puffy cyan mist overhead. Stars hid behind the cluster of clouds that slowly crossed the expanding sky. The ravine carried a breeze that hugged the Irish Knight’s frame. Coated in thick layers of sweat from the sudden onset of sun baking heat, the night’s air was refreshing across the watered down man. 

Diarmuid’s shoulders were hunched, as he knelt on his knees watching for any other aggravating assaults. After his Master relieved herself—and rather belatedly—supplemented herself with snacks and water, the duo were mauled. It seemed her edibles drew attention from lizard-like beasts that hounded them. 

Somewhere in their skirmish, deformed coyotes joined the fray, biting off more than they could chew. Lady luck decided to assist them, adding three other competitors into the mix. Together, the unlikely team chipped down the numbers from few to none. The Knight was thankful for their assistance, and even more jovial when they departed. 

Their reprieve hadn’t lasted long, and within a few hours, the steam clouds above rained. What could have delight, swiftly shifted to horror as the sky drowned the Arena in a muck so vile it sweltered the skin of all underneath it. If not for the archway made of stone and dirt, their lives would have been lost in slow, melting agony. 

Both he and the Lady now had welts, blisters and slits so severe, another attack pressured their advancement. In the few moments of peace they were granted in the sweltering heat, they settled in a crevice that was neatly tessellated in cacti and crooked trees. 

Diarmuid looked over to the tattered woman hidden in the formation of stone. He knew she was drenched to the toes. Her chocolate locks look like they had gotten into a fight with the wind. And lost. The center of her top laid bare her bosoms, while other cleaved sections exposed light flesh. In utter frustration, the Lady used the sword’s blade to finish extracting the smelted pant line past her knees. 

Turning his gander away—for he was still seeing more of the lady than he should—the Knight inspected his own gear that closely resembled that of a wounded warrior. There was no fragment of clothing left unscathed from the previous assaults. He debated following in Haley’s wake, shredding bits and pieces of fabric until it made sense. They only had another mere day left of this insanity, so he would refrain from doing so. 

The other pressing problem besides the tournament’s little interruptions, his Lady still seemed out of place. Not so much as physically— but rather in terms of emotional detachment. The shine that normally reflected in her azure orbs died out. Her usual banter and forthrightness now secluded itself into a cage of gloom. The only moment of respite in her deteriorated state was their landing in this new section of the Arena, where the sun’s rays warmed their figures and the canyon’s breathtaking view blew them both away.

The male had attempted to communicate with her again, that she needed to have faith in his abilities. The Lady needn’t question the outcome of the tournament. That she, just as he, needed to remain true to their resolve without letting the crooked way the tournament did things put a damper on that. 

“Trust me, I get that. And I am not doubting you.. It’s just a lot.” And it was. In the course of a day, her whole reason for being in Hell’s limbo came crumbling down like a ton of bricks. “Just give me some time to get over it.”

Silence past in a beat, and Diarmuid exhaled. “Alright, but do not forget I am here if you wish to speak.”

“I know, and you don’t have to worry, I will be okay.” Haley said, drawing circles in the dirt beneath her rear.

Haley absorbed the breeze that felt cooler thanks to the coat of sweat she wore, trying to level her head where Diarmuid needed it to be. She spied his soggy back across from her, and wondered how the hell a dead man could sweat. Was that normal? Eh, the heat was only affecting him slightly, and the puddles of water latched on to him was nowhere near as bad. It was easily settled that it was mild, just like his reaction to the cold in past days.

Between the inflection of russet boulders, beams of yellow winked through. Dingy clouds broke apart from the sun’s assault. Haley groaned, knowing this meant the torrid heat would make a second appearance. The nature of the desert’s night was much more rewarding, and was uneventful. 

Fingers reached for the bag of essentials to pluck a water bottle from it’s depths, then recoiled from the snap in the earth. Haley discharged back, scrambling from what broke through the foundation. 

Diarmuid like the guard dog he was— was already in front of her, obscuring the view of whatever unlatched dirt, and swallowed their bag whole. A sibilant sound was carried as the man shielding Haley pounced like a lion protecting its cub. 

Arena Sword in hand, jolted for the serpent-like creature that now towered over them. Lime colored scales flayed under warm silver. The alluvium quaked and spit nuggets in the wake of the cobra burrowing. 

The Arena rumbled like a stomach needing filling. Erupting like a volcano, the slithering menace deflated the terrain. The mountain elevation was reduced to rubble, submerging the Knight along with Lady to the layers below. 

Diarmuid recovered quickly in their drop, snatching the woman mid air, breaking her fall by taking the sheer brunt of it himself. The impact dislodged all the air from his lungs. All that was left to make their abrupt descent worse was the debris that cracked bones and shred skin. The two flooded with adrenaline, rushed right to maneuver away from the remaining bits of showering stones.

In the midst of their narrow escape from the Arena, its slithering friend was far from gone. The reptile with red jewels for eyes locked on them like a sniper and spit venom that dissolved more rubble. The only positive matter was that it was locked merely on Diarmuid, while Haley managed to escape behind the pile of rubble.

“Diarmuid watch out!” Haley called to her Knight, the moment she saw the wreckage explode from a man the size of a damn mammoth beneath it. 

The Irishman’s eyes snapped to the behemoth that hurled the ruins from his person, and with a snap adjusted his leap to avoid it. 

The man was herculean: ridged muscle contoured his entire shape. Straight red hair just narrowly skimmed his shoulders and the roar that exited his plump lips matched the bellowing cry of the serpent. The glittering snake switched targets to him just in time for him to see the woman uncovered.

Completely opposite from her teammate in size, the lady was scrawny and had matching, short scarlet locks. Diarmuid’s keen eyes spotted crimson splatters across her skin. Had she fallen victim to the rocky torrents? 

With the serpent’s attention on the sheer force of that cursed man, Diarmuid scouted for the sword that slipped through his fingers when apprehending Haley before they smashed asphalt. It’s handle was severely damaged, only a stub of it remained and the edges were scraped apart but it would do.

He clutched the cold steel in his left hand and deciphered how he was to handle the monstrous beast next, despite the fact his right arm was completely useless. The fellow Forsaken just missed a crashing blow with his gigantic mallet, kicking up dust. 

“You, let us work together to slay this beast,” Diarmuid called to the woman who just managed to stand on her two feet. 

“Fine!” She shouted back over the sound of the monster tunneling into the canyon once more, “Jaxon, focus all your energy on that thing!” 

The two warriors exchanged confirming glances in their temporary truce, though something irked the hell out of Diarmuid. This man, had he not at least seen him prior to this endeavor? 

Well anyway, the familiarities could wait. Because just as he was about to form another sentence, the damn ground leveled beneath the Knight’s feet once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a pain. I got a little bit lost on what I wanted to put on paper, and it made the process I usually do in a few days turn into weeks. To make sure this does NOT happen again, I have shortened the 10 days in the Arena to 6. So we are in our final days of the round 3. I really hope that does not disappoint anyone! If it does, let me know, and I will think of ways to extend their days in the ring! Either way, hope you enjoyed and look forward to seeing you in the next chapter! Im getting to my favorite parts of the story in a few! :D


	30. Change

The Knight ejected from his previous standing in a blur leaving nothing but a burst of sand and gravel behind him. Farther down into the dips of crevices Diarmuid landed, the viper on his heels. His body curled so silver could carve into the vermin. 

The move was almost useless given the condition of the weapon. The mere scratch looked like it was made by a cuddly kitten. It was only intrinsically that the blade caught on long fangs driving the raven haired warrior across the landscape. He was deathly close to the redhead’s partner.

With deadly force, the warrior jackhammered his club into the soft underbelly hurtling the monstrosity into the rocky cliffside that exploded from the collision. The turf engulfed the length but the immediate crumbling told the two warriors it was a temporary hold. 

Intuitive eyes mastered a plan to use geography and the ripped combatant in their favor, and both fighters in the brief respite fired safeguarding glimpses at their Detainers. 

“Jaxon… was it?” Diarmuid said, pinning his lowered stare to the enemy who grunted back at him, “Is your strength capable of tossing the creature over the ledge?” 

A simple nod told the inquisitive man his answer. His lack of speech reminded the former Servant of his Holy Grail war. This man’s approach to battle was similar to that of a berserker: A manic fighting style with little intelligence and language. Even so, the man seemed coherent enough to take orders. Diarmuid could work with that. 

The two contenders latched their attentiveness onto the serpent. “Then I shall act as bait to draw it towards the edge, on your ready!” 

Azure orbs scrutinized the take off of their Knight. Fast as a falcon locked onto a mouse, the dark haired man swung that sword like a bat, aim wild and random. It only grazed the cobra enough for the wriggling animal to target its attacker. 

Haley’s leg shifted on the dry land. _Is_ _Diarmuid only using one hand?_ Eyes narrowed for further inspection of the speck that sped across the flat surface of the canyon. The left hand gripped a cracked steel while the other lay limp at his side. 

Even with a handicap: it was difficult not to take notice how little the strains of a damaged body weighed the man down. The Knight on the battlefield was like a graceful dancer who had rehearsed the routine day in and out. Perfectly nimble and evasive: the performer gamboled the terrain, leaving dust clouds and wreckage where he once stood.

It was difficult for his partner to keep an eye on his movements, and she doubted their adversaries could as well. Haley wished that applied to the Cobra that was on his tail wrecking the Arena. Every so often its attention shifted, wide head angling to snap at Diarmuid, while the other half grazed the ground in a swoop to keep the other two where they stood. She herself was concealed behind the stonework, only adjusting her position when the snake’s back was to her, or threatened to blow her cover to bits.

The view of greenery layering the brook in the gorge confirmed the Irish Knight he arrived at his destination. Few meters from the edge he the land serpent emerged before him and halted, as if understanding in its own miniscule brain the plan. With the burly man’s heavy feet that trampled at the rear of the coiled tail, Diarmuid darted for the animal. 

Blows were furiously traded with the head of the bared fanged beast. In its fury, acid saliva spread like wildfire and pelted down on. Like a horror movie, shrill shrieks were released from the mottled woman too close to the battle. 

As if his companion’s scream evoked some sort of lunacy, the stocky man lunged forward. The snake's body retracted backwards. Like a damn laso—which seemed almost impossible given the grand length and smaller frame that whipped it—the snake spun a single time from Jaxon’s gastronomic grip. 

The dark haired man’s eyes bulged. The toss was calculatingly  _ short  _ and _ low.  _

_ Frig hell! _

With haste, Diarmuid ducked and rolled from the throw— The ground around his siding frame burst and crumbled under the final slap of the behemoth’s tail. 

His Master’s wale reverberated in the canyon just as he barely nabbed the cliffside’s edge with a single, flailing hand. The sword, already a long ways down. Eyebrows scrunched together, and eyes closed from the sweat that leaked into his lids. Diarmuid with a huff, chest burning from the crack it made against the edge, channeled all his strength to his biceps and swung his dangling legs back onto the dusty surface.

If he had been a second, a galling  _ second  _ slower, The Knight’s entire body would have been lost to the canyon’s pit. That were no accident: the bastard purposefully meant to send him to his spirits' final outcome. 

Haley’s heart was frozen in time. There was no way she would have made it in time. She was only half way to her mark when the locker to Diarmuid’s heart banged against the mountain’s edge. Her breath finally went out, but not before the king-sized man hurtled towards her. 

Curses left her lips. She was a deer being chased by a tiger but with nowhere to run. That brawny man’s weapon smashed the Arena where she departed like it was meat under a cleaver!

“Leave me the hell alone!” Haley snarled, diving out of the way of another massive slam. “Stop it!” she shrieked, just as her insides joined her.

Deranged eyes stared the frail woman down. She was cornered like a mouse, and her gut was on a roller coaster ride. Haley caught only a glimpse of the man’s injured Detainer in the back, clutching wounds that required desperate healing. 

Haley jammed her eyelids shut. Hope and fear awkwardly mingled together, and her entire being sought for her Knight to rescue her. “DIARMUID!!” 

In the time it took for the Irishman to balance himself back onto the sand and onto his feet: That damn Jaxon pounced on Haley like a lion. Internally he berated himself for trusting his enemy so closely. He should damn know better after all the betrayal he endured thanks to such things. 

He closed the clearing in seconds, shielding the girl who cried his name. Diarmuid threw up his damaged arm and bones cracked from the collision of steel and meat. Against his broken body's objections, he footed the man clean in his exposed entrails.

Not letting up for a second, like a panther he pounced on the recuperating enemy and snagged his own weapon right from its traitorous, unsuspecting hands. His woman’s scratchy voice yelped for them to cease their quarrel, but it fell upon deaf ears. The bloodthirst was palpable in the man’s blood-red orbs and drool filled lips.

Diarmuid comprehended this deranged look and actually pitied the damn soul. Had he not once looked the same, hell, pathetically even  _ twice _ ? Course his pathetic countenance had been leaking blood not spit, but the details were unneeded. This man was  _ heavily  _ cursed, and it seemed their skirmish somehow set it off. 

Now the Knight could place the familiar face of the foe that attempted to pummel out his innards in reply to being dearmed, but Diarmuid was faster, and he leveled the weapon down on a hard skull before anyone watching could blink. 

The two warriors were disconnected, and the battered man thought to be down from the head wound, bounced back like a spring.

Diarmuid practically growled as the sheer movement required disastrous reflexes on his part. Swinging his arm to clobber the swat the fiend in the jaw felt like swinging lead. 

“Stop this—! If you are able, tend to your Master! Should she not come first considering her state?!” Haley’s Knight reasoned, as the dislodged jaw clicked when the man shakily brought himself to his feet. 

Fatigued steps traveled to the woman gripping marred flesh through the melted, crimson dipped green tank top. “Call him off! This… this is pointless!” 

The woman’s cherry locks shook calmly, “I can’t. When he is like that…” The woman paused, as if recollecting painful memories in the way she topped her shorts, “I can’t control him.”

“What about a command seal? Can’t you—”

Arms lifted over her ginger head and revealed pale, freckled arms, “I have already used the one. That curse..it’s...  _ unmanageable _ .” She said finally with remorse.

Balled up fists quivered at each side of Haley’s stringy frame. Could she do it? _ Should  _ she? 

She turned her attention to the warriors brawling it out. Diarmuid had just jerked the weapon into the man’s right thigh, bringing him onto his knee. The man easily lashed back at him aiming for throat. He was on a rampage, and Diarmuid was desperately attempting to find means to bring him down without finality she would presume. 

So no. Doing so would require getting in proximity, which judging by how fiercely that madman just knocked into Diarmuid’s ankles…

Haley took a couple steps back, at a loss of what to do. They were going to kill each other at this rate—or in this Limbo’s case—cease body function signalling those horrid Shadows. And for what  _ purpose _ ? 

Before the distraught woman could think on it further: Manic eyes attached to a man hovering over a wrestling Diarmuid skewered hers. Like a dart aiming for its target, the demented man charged to his mark.

Diarmuid rolled into a crouching position and with eyes like an eagle, launched the mallet like an axe. The back of the weapon stampeding the man’s skull. It thundered so loud from the strike, even the bystanders of the tournament would probably hear. The man’s face snuggled dirt almost instantly from the contact.

A foot away from Haley, Jaxon collapsed face first into the sand with a beast’s snarl. The thunderstruck woman’s eyes and mouth dropped with him. Was he..? To save her.. was that hit strong enough...?

“No way…! Jaxon you can’t…!” The woman who reclined in the sand scurried to her fallen partner. “You can still fight! Come on!” Blemished hands palpated the limp figure, whose eyes flickered, then went dim. 

Haley limped over, organs still churning in disdain after being gutted like a pig. That absent stare: she had seen it before, across the features of a stunning woman. 

“No… he’s..” The words themselves silenced Haley from continuing her statement. There was shame in her sullen eyes, but... that man was beyond help. She would have been killed. Still, that left no room relief, and only remorse filled her heart.

Pure resentment contoured the woman’s countenance, and the psychic completely empathized. She too would wear that look if the same happened to Diarmuid, who stood idly at bay. 

Haley leveled her bleak stare with the Knight’s troubled one. She knew what those dismal orbs were asking her, but she failed to give them an answer. With her partner out of the Round, the woman could strike back. She was a danger to them, just as he was.

However, returning her attentiveness to the pair at their feet, she saw no fight in that beaten woman’s amber eyes. 

Fists still clenched at her sides, Haley huffed a deciding breath with tightly shut lids. 

_ Fuck this damn place. _ She thought, and knelt to the cursed man’s side. The telekinetic wasn’t doing this to protect anyone. It no way impeded on the rules for her to be helpless against the Arena. This act of defiance was against whatever spell casted this man.

A nod to the pair of lovers that aided her despite not having to.

Haley felt the suspicious glare ripping her to shreds. She paid no mind however the woman was mentally ripping her apart. Instead, she focused on her magical circuits, and placed a sweaty hand on the man’s back. “ _ Heile diesen Fluch.”  _

“What the hell are you…!” The woman almost snapped, but halted her verbal assaults at what her sight registered.

Infernal magic in a dusky cloud, puffed like myst on a dewy morning. It slowly mystified itself within the red haired woman who lightly trembled from its ferocity. After it channelled through her, a spark emitted from her palms, and the darkness that shrouded the man dissipated into the earth. 

Jaxon’s muscles twitched, and the wine in his eyes washed away like blood flowing in a river. Emerald eyes brightened before flaps slowly covered them. Eyebrows once mashed together raised, and a long smile spread across thick lips.

Haley choked out a breath, letting her hands fall to her curves. “He… is at peace, now.” She said flatly, and then gripped her inner strength to not sway as she stood. “I’m… sorry I couldn’t do more.”

Crystal eyes locked with their bewildered Knight, and then dropped to the curse healer’s hole filled boots. Before anyone could question her, Haley strutted off past Diarmuid, whose gaze only followed her a few steps away. She stopped a far few feet, not really knowing where in the world she was going. She just needed to be anywhere but _th_ _ ere _ .

Diarmuid was at a loss for words. What she performed… was.. it even permitted?

His awestruck gander lowered to the woman and her friend. She seemed just as astonished as he, but yet she seemed to understand what had transpired. His Lady had just extracted the curse plaguing that forsaken man. 

The quashed woman’s gaze snapped to his hands like they were weapons ready to strike when Diarmuid raised his left—and only working—hand to his nape in disbelief. 

“Wait..! P-Please.. Just leave us be..” she stuttered, embracing the stiff man beneath her, “Just.. a few more minutes with him.. “ that was all she wanted, before the shadows took her brother away. With bitterness seeping into her tone, she added, “And then.. You can finish me.” 

Mystified again, Diarmuid casually brought his hand to his side. This lady does not know his noble principles. To… attack someone in such a state as herself was not something he would consider, unless she struck first. Plus—his gaze subtly turned to the woman who waited for him then back to her—there was a lady he quite respected who would agree. Even if this chivalrous decision were to bite them later.

He dipped over his arm, “Do not be afraid, I will not hurt you here. It would sully the honor my Master and I have set for ourselves.” He spared a final, grieving glance to the man he ended just moments before and then back to the face of the surprised woman, “However, if you choose to target us, we shall do what we must.” 

The weapon separating the two competitors stared up at Diarmuid, tempting him to lift it into his capable hand. Though another careful look at the woman convinced him with her injuries, she needed it just as much as he. 

“Thanks..I guess..” The woman stated in a garbled whisper. His letting her go was a strange decision. She may be maimed in places, but she was not incompastited and without her brother… she was free to attack them as she saw fit. 

It didn't matter. When she removed her slant from her kin, the Forsaken only dipped once more and retracted to his Detainer. It was not like she could maneuver through his inhuman speed with her Gandr shots and other projectile tactics, anyway. When she restored her scrutiny to the fallen beneath her, the howling of Shadows lurking behind, she decided not to care.

At least… Jaxon was granted peace he longed for. And she would forever be grateful to that girl for that.

\--------------------------------------

Settling on the wavy, rocky slope, Haley buried her face in her hands. How much more stupid can she be? This was a damn tournament to the death: not a peace rally. She was here for one person, not to aid them all. 

But still… That man was being tormented from the inside out. Reduced to pure madness by some of the simplest of curses. Well, at least the Arena didn’t reduce her to ashes or something for helping him. 

“Are you mad…?” Haley mumbled into her damp hands.

“No…Confused, maybe.” Diarmuid hesitated a moment, casting his gaze to the sky that peeled open like a tangerine. The merigold sphere descending in the sky. “What was the purpose of healing that man’s curse?”

“I.. It’s in my nature. I see a curse, and I want to fix it.. And..” It was so hard to form a coherent thought with the sun beating down on her so hard. “Why not? That man was being eaten alive by it… even if it was for a moment: I could give him the amity he was missing.” 

Her Knight inclined his head in recognition. “Ah, so out of the kindness of your heart, then?” He smiled.

“Did I make the wrong choice? Should.. We have finished them there instead..?” Haley asked, removing her face from the cups of her hands, exhaustion tugging down on her eyelids.

“It was slightly foolish to go to such lengths, considering the risk that accompanied it. However,” Diarmuid forced himself to sit, the ache finally winning the battle over his limbs, “It is who you are. We can sit here and dwell on the matter, or we can move forward and handle what comes our way.”

A ripple in Arena’s air, similar to that of the oceans’ waves propped a bowl of water and a gleaming rock into Haley’s thighs. She unfurled the note that was rolled into the fabric. 

_ For Diarmuid’s arm and your abdomen. He will know what to do. _

Haley looked to Diarmuid for answers to the subtle note and saw a flicker of joy tint his hues, “It is a Quartz crystal. They are from celtic legend, known for healing properties.” 

“Oh, how do we use it?” Haley asked,peering at the multi edges silver mineral. 

“The water absorbs properties from the gem, you can just apply it to the place needed for healing. It is limited, so we should take care with where we apply it.”

“Well, they gave specifics, might as well follow them.” The solemn woman said, carefully pouring a generous amount of the liquid down the length of his right arm. The rest dampened her midsection, and the items disappeared. 

As the round ball of bright light ducked behind foggy plains of auburn columns, Diarmuid’s legs crossed over the other on the hills of smooth rocks. He admired the magical essence, waiting for whatever was to provoke them next. Granted, weapons were scarce, and he undoubtedly wished the remainder of their final day were quiet. That the lowering sun would grace them more than just beautiful views. 

“I think this terrain is my personal favorite. Well, in terms of landscape, anyway.” Haley admitted, standing next to the cross legged Knight. Even if her spirits were still dampered, she wanted to at least try to lighten her and his mood. “You kind of get lost in the vast space.” 

“Indeed. I’ve transcended time and space, and yet still it is nature that captivates my heart, imitation or no.” 

Admiral colors batted away residual warmth, replacing the overcast with peppered light, and coyotes sun songs to the rising moon. Rumbles were carried in the canyons, and Diarmuid spotted flickering lights across the way.  _ Adversaries must be in battle. _ He thought, as hairs pricked. 

Haley hunkered behind the raven haired man, pressing her back against the dampness of his own. Torn legs arched while she folded her hands over her knees.

With nothing else left to do but wait for the conclusion of the round, Haley conversed with her Knight. After observing that quick glimmer of hope from the kick back to celtic times, she was curious to hear stories of his land and era. Their events to this moment in time have always centered around her or the haunting past that plagued Diarmuid’s mind: so naturally she wanted to be gifted with tales of the Irish Warrior that granted him his own peace. 

Diarmuid’s heart quickened against his ribcage, thinking of stories of his time on earth to bess the lady with. What would satisfy her curiosity? Might he tell her the comedic stories of himself and the Knights of the Fianna? Maybe a hardy tale to lift her her heavy heart? Definitely not his journey with Grainne, even if his heroism in the modern era were centered there. He believed she knew enough of those events from his memories, anyhow. “What.. would you like to know, my Lady?”

“What do  _ you _ want to tell me? I’ll listen to anything.” She whispered softly, trying to manage her growing drowsiness.

_ Anything…  _ He echoed in his thoughts, dreaming of great wines, his brothers hardy laughs that brimmed the chambers of the castle. Hunting trips across the wilderness in Ireland, and the small lodges that sheltered them in their travels. The time he truly had been in love. 

No, even that were a tale he was mildly known from. Surely she was gifted with that recollection as well. So he gazed at the stars above, and told her of the battle at the Gord alongside his fellow Knight, Conan Mhaol. While Diarmuid stood Guard, three Kings asked to cross the Ford with threat to his great Lord, Fionn.

Diarmuid rebuked quietly that he shall only grant them to pass if they allowed him to slay the King of the World. Against their army of six hundred men, the Knight fought the warriors, easily taking them down. 

“That magical Island had some great battles.” He stated simply, realizing that the Lady was not too fond of his… dealings against the enemy. 

“It’s crazy incredible how strong you are. A single man taking down armies,” Haley shook her head in disbelief, “What else? I.. I want to hear everything.”

Joyful recollection of the Irish man’s valour soothed Haley’s troubled mind. It felt like time was at a standstill whenever she was with her Knight. She could harmonize when he recounted his days until Earth stopped spinning. 

Diarmuid was euphoric in his retelling and she was enamored by how much of a chatter box he  _ actually _ was. A couple of hand jerks and signals emphasizing his stories of passion, battles, and adventure. His posture was easy going and invited the world around him to join his happiness. 

Haley swiveled. Hands from her side relocated to the rough ones telling of the best berries that a Giant looked after and intertwined them together. She felt him still, but curled their intertwined fingers to his rising sternum. 

“So.. these berries…?“ She said gently, resting her forehead in between his damp shoulder blades that finally relaxed.Funny how the desert heat even warmed his cool body. More happiness filled her soul when his fingers gave in, and relaxed upon hers.

Heterochromia eyes traced the milky way. This was not the first time he held her hands, so why had this particular moment turned him into jelly? Make his heart quiver like a coward? Diarmuid refused that idiocy. He was retelling his life, and never were he so.. Reluctant. He allowed his fingertips to knead the top of her knuckles. A mellow display of his fondness.

The knight carried forward to tell her of Ireland’s best fruit. All the while, he made a decision. He may be a Spirit long passed, but he was also Diarmuid ua Duibhne. He grew tired of resisting what his heart told him. 

He would be true to himself and who he was trying to be. And it all started, with the woman pressed against him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork for their little chatter~  
> 


	31. Matched

After becoming bread in an oven, Haley was now melting ice cream in a freezer. With that uncomfortable element added to the sandpaper in her throat… she was just peachy. 

She attempted to rest after being lulled by the rhythmic sound of Diarmuid’s heartbeat and his melodious reciting of “The Greedy Fox”, an Irish Folktale of a Fox that overindulged in her consumption of the best fish. Despite that, the predictable unpredictability of the Arena’s changing climate increasingly agitated her senses.

Diarmuid was of course wide awake—utilizing his bat-like hearing and hawk-like eyesight—and fully aware of their surroundings. Haley’s protective bear was considerate enough to permit her to use his thorax as a pillow. When she sought to lie down with him, she had surmised he would be hesitant, or downright reject the suggestion; but instead, he’d pondered the request for a mere second before he’d readily acceded. 

If only the situation granted the benefit of slumber… her use of the curse-healing magic had drained her energy, even though it was a simple removal in this instance. Instead, she lay wide awake as she admired her friend's toned body. Haley trailed her fingers softly along every contour of his taut muscles as she contemplated the effort required to maintain such a superior physical state.

Her thoughts were primarily occupied with the recollections of being parched and knackered, and the lingering melancholy over the events of this particular Round, as Haley examined the watch.  _ 376 Hours.  _ So... possibly six more hours until she heard the familiar sound of the audience, and the faces of the Panel.

She decided that she thoroughly despised the judges of their match.

Not wanting to delve deeper into the tournament semantics that were decaying her mind, Haley turned her cheek, absorbing the manly aroma that was Diarmuid.  _ He will be fine. We will win this tournament and save him. We have to. I won’t accept anything else. _

“My lady, something approaches.” Diarmuid said wearily, severing their link with a tinge of disappointment. He was rather enjoying their canoodling. 

The Knight stood defensively as his hands flexed for absent weapons. It would be difficult to fend off a violent horde without  _ something  _ — but with his history, it was at least manageable. A ferocious beast would be simple enough to defeat. He dreaded the advance of a team looking to achieve the reward for killing Detainers. At least if he were to find mindless Arena scum, the chances of Haley being their sole target were low. The foulest outcome would be the Undead, as those asinine creations were invincible unless they were struck directly in the brain or beheaded.

The wretched truth was that the Arena disliked him, Diarmuid thought as the most unfavorable of the options popped its head over the cacti. It was a vile detail that the wobbling figures inching themselves closer were dressed in tacky, orange jumpsuits. 

Mismatched eyes leered at the woman behind him as she hooked her lower lip under her top teeth in reaction to their savage regard. Flashbacks of the beginning of their round swirled in Diarmuid’s head. They had only escaped the army of Undead thanks to the assistance of a fire user. If they could just steal away and trigger their perception, they could yet ease their way out of this.

The warrior crouched in the usual position, his Lady already climbing him like a ladder. The two were connected together once more as they cautiously worked their way down the slope. Their efforts were successful as they passed shrubs and various pillars of red rock. Their efforts to evade their pursuers all seemed to be going swimmingly... until a twig snapped underfoot.

Two pairs of eyes snapped downward, as the two legs on the ground took two steps back. Beneath them, in the trench of the stone, lay a nest capable of housing thirty men. It was littered with pieces of human skeletal systems; both competitors gulped. Whatever made this —

A light breeze wafted past them, accompanied by a rustle of bushes and the shudder of earth under something  _ heavy’ _ s feet. 

Haley stiffened as she felt the heat from a large exhale; it finished centimetres from her ears. Her face turned a mere sliver to witness flaring tendrils on scaly flesh. Round, lavender eyes within a thin, white sack blinked, and of course: a pointy snout separated, flashing layers of pointed teeth dripping in fluid.  _ Oh fuck _ . 

Diarmuid retracted his previous statement about the Undead being their foulest adversaries… because this was far, far worse. What was he to do against a blasted dragon, with no weapons? At least they would eventually outrun the Undead, but this...? 

The explosion of sound made by the massive paws (with claws the size of Diarmuid’s arm) bounced off the walls of the Canyon. Vision was lost in the resulting fury of dust and gravel. The Knight had managed to escape the crushing blow of defeat that the giant reptilian mitt would have dealt them. 

Enraged, the ferocious dragon bellowed an ear-splitting cry; it was so intensely loud that every nerve in the woman’s body involuntarily quavered. 

“Diarmuid - we gotta get outta here!” Haley shouted, mentally slapping herself for her concession to cowardice. 

“Trust me, my Lady - I know!” Diarmuid responded, as he leapt away from another too-close encounter with the dragon’s colossal strength. 

Frantic eyes roamed the Arena, looking for their best chances of escape. However, the terrain inherently hindered their escape. Eerie wails followed suit. The Undead latched on to their position like dogs following the scent of prey. 

Curses flew from both their mouths, as the Undead trampled towards them like a herd of buffalo. Wind blasted past, as Diarmuid skidded down the slanted path haphazardly bordered by cacti and desert scrub. His skin felt like it was being mercilessly pricked by pins and needles. The dead followed relentlessly, but the flying ophidian above him affrighted him the most. Each flap of its timber wings drew the beast closer.

He realized that it was futile trying to outrun the menace with Haley clinging to his backside. 

The fleeing warrior whipped around to avoid the crashing jaws that dispersed the earth. Fabrics split under its digging nails and a snarl of pure evil made him recoil. He glanced at the graze upon his arm and begged the Gods it was not deep enough to corrode his soul. 

At that moment, the gold-plated watch buzzed, startling them both. Simultaneously, Diarmuid landed his foot in the ghoul’s face, knocking the staggering body into the dirt. Haley could not fathom why now - of all times - this was the moment to send her an alert!

Haley struggled to comprehend the words on the small screen, since the vigorous clashes of dodging bodies and claws hindered her focus. It was only when they’d hiked further down the mountainside and reached a heavy wall of stone that shielded them, that she registered the message. Within the background of a Lilac symbol in the shape of the a three-budded clover — that she swore she remembered — she read:

_ Hover the Ruby key over the watch, sweetheart. _

“Did it say anything helpful?” Diarmuid asked, peering past the wall of rock as he glimpsed the obnoxious Undead as they steadily advanced, and the Dragon that lurked above. 

“Hang on.” Confused, Haley dug in her torn jeans pocket, pulled out the very key in the memo and followed the message’s instruction. 

Bright red light burst from the key; before Diarmuid and Haley could adjust, a clang cut off the illumination. A blade - outlined in red with black in the middle and a silver and red handle - lay in the dirt before them. Accompanying it was a long crimson spear, with a note attached. 

_ You may keep these for the rest of the tournament - should you survive the Dragon. _

Joy filled the Warrior’s heart as he gladly armed himself with his precious weapons... and he  _ would  _ keep them, because there was no way that he would not prevail. A boldly confident smile spread like butter across his face. 

The Knight’s strength was amplified tenfold by the delight in his form. With the screech of Undead only metres off in the distance, Diarmuid easily ambushed the unsuspecting meddlers. The familiar cold steel of Moralltach and Gae Dearg in his palms amplified each calculated powerful swipe, as heads rolled and limbs detached. 

A feral ululation erupted in the Arena from above. The mythical reptile’s jaws unleashed a scorching torrent of air, splitting the geography apart. Canyon disintegrated underfoot, leaving little room for Diarmuid to maneuver over the playing field. 

Across the newly-created trench, the Undead shuffled restlessly. Some scurried to their final descending demise, while others found their way around the chasm. Diarmuid’s furious blows kept them at bay but the Dragon breathing down his back was of a different calibre. 

The Arena was pulverized by currents of air that Diarmuid battled to avoid. Other contenders appeared and disappeared, overcome by the mighty being’s attacks. Arrows and shots reverberated in the Canyon’s echoes, and yet the circling predator was unfazed. 

With a mighty swoop, the creature glided in the air, releasing spikes that impaled unsuspecting combatants. With an inspired thought that was daring - and even downright hazardous - Gae Dearg joined Moralltach in Diarmuid’s right hand.

“Lady Haley, I am to leave you here,” he said as he slipped her off his back and glared into the crystal blue feminine eyes that questioned his actions. A last read on their surroundings told the warrior there were no enemies close, besides the hovering dragon.

“Have faith in your Knight, for I will grant you victory. Do you trust me?”

That was a silly question. Diarmuid was the only person Haley had full faith in, he must know that. 

“Always.” Haley cupped his cheek in her right hand. “I don't know what you’re planning, but come back to me.” She raised on tippy-toes to plant a reassuring kiss on his cheek. 

“I… will return. I swear,” Diarmuid replied, somewhat taken aback by her doting gesture. Another bellow diverted his attention; he noted that the protection of distance was being swiftly eroded by the airborne assailant. 

The scheming Knight latched onto the thick hairs that dappled the long neck of the mythical beast. His Lady’s eyes followed the fight in the sky. Diarmuid rode the beast like a horse, grabbing the furs on its wide nape as if they were reins. Its gargantuan body ran amok as it erratically thrashed in the upper atmosphere. 

Tears stung Diarmuid’s eyes from the sheer velocity. His biceps shook from the force, as he desperately tried to keep hold of the strands that kept him in flight. He dragged his muscular arms up the body of the beast, worming his way nearer its vitals to secure an advantage.

Mountains obstructed the body of the beast and indirectly dragged the mounted warrior across its bulk. His nerves screamed from being shredded. Only a whisker saved the courageous man from needing new eye sockets. Horns that spiked from the Dragon’s head provided the support Diarmuid needed, as he thrust the length of Gae Dearg deep into its malevolent, slitted orbs. 

Gore painted the sky, followed by a piercing shriek. The momentum carried them downward; the wrath of the dragon dumped Diarmuid into the riverbank. Water streamed through his nostrils and plugged his lungs from receiving air - yet he drove his spear deeper, causing the walloping dragon to exit the turbulent water. 

With a quick yank, the spear released and Diarmuid ejected from the scaly monster. He sprinted across the rocky bottom of the canyon, aiming for the crevice where the walls came together. A gaping maw of death stalked close behind, ready to swallow him whole. He increased his pace, parkouring the walls of the ravine. 

The gorge cut into itself where he halted, the space ever-tightening. Wings clipped in the narrow space as Diarmuid rose his crimson blade over his head. 

“AUUHHH, MORALLTACH!!” 

Haley raced to the canyon’s edge when the beast her Knight still hung dangerously from dashed from the sky into the ravine. The combating mythical beings scuffled in the water and were mere ants marching in the crevices. It was only when the walls of earth came crashing down like a landslide that she understood Diarmuid’s insane plot.

Boulders and walls tumbled like an avalanche — consuming the beast in their descent.  _ That crazy freckin’ Knight… _ Haley thought, slightly panicked that the man got caught in his own trap.  _ Diarmuid, please tell me - _

_I_ _am fine, though I had not anticipated being so low in the gorge. My Lady, please, please find cover. I wish nothing to happen to you without my being there!_

An exasperated sigh exited the astounded woman’s lips. The man was incredible, and damn - she was lucky he was on  _ her _ side, worrying for her. 

Haley pivoted on her heels, as a warm feeling made her heart thump harder. Did she really press a peck onto a _ dead _ man’s cheek? She did, but she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t believe his soul was more alive than most people in the world. 

“Why did I do that...? Because... I trust him?” Or... the latter. Jeez, if she didn’t know any better, she’d think her cheeks were warm because she was blushing, not because of the sun - “THE SUN!” 

Beyond the peaks of the canyon, brilliance broke through. It was so bright that it almost shone through the back of her dry, cracked hand. When the illumination ceased, roaring cheers shook the stadium. 

Haley threw her rear onto the cool cement. She didn’t think she would ever appreciate a controlled temperature more than she did now. 

“Welcome back participants! My my, that was quite the show!”

Haley sucked her teeth.  _ Riiiiight, she exists. _ Chestnut-colored hair tilted back as azure eyes observed a missing ceiling.  _ So that’s how they fit those monstrous mountains. The dome is even more like a Roman coliseum that I thought. _

Briscella’s obnoxious boasting of the round’s trials were obliterated by Haley’s thoughts; she instead focused her attention on the teleporting threats of the challenges they faced. The dragon, accompanied by other creatures, floated upward and disappeared. Undead bodies were in clear bubbles, then disintegrated into ash.

A bitter expression crossed her features as she considered the lost Undead souls. It was awful - the implacable fate dealt to the participants. Haley had disliked their treatment of the souls in the world — regardless of whatever it was that brought them here — but that was too cruel for words. 

When Briscella finally released the spotlight to the healers, Diarmuid’s searching gaze found the Lady. Relief struck his quivering form. It was not a decision he made lightly, leaving her to her own accord. He feared a repeat of Mistress Solo-ui, but thankfully time had been on their side today. 

And then there was that… kiss. 

_ No. It was just the Lady showing her loyalty to me.  _ His emotions were as tumultuous as the swirling storm clouds, as Diarmuid offered the Lady a wave and a strained smile. “Lady Hal- ” 

Crystal eyes lit up like a bulb, and Haley launched herself into the unsuspecting arms of Diarmuid. A warrior able to fend off his Lord against great armies, and yet he was caught off guard by a single woman. His lips tugged at the corners.

“Gosh! You rode a DRAGON! Then you crushed a CANYON! Jeez you’re so…!” What word could she use to explain this oaf? Reckless? Insane? Ridiculous? “... Unbelievably amazing.” Well, that worked, too. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” 

Diarmuid cradled her forehead to tap his chest. “Of course - I swore I would, did I not?” 

“Yeah, yeah you did.” Haley replied, but kept the fear for her Knight hidden away in his caressing hold. 

“Ey, yer supposed to leave the Stadium,” a gruff woman’s voice spat from behind Diarmuid. “Off to the Healers yer go, or get escorted outta here.” 

“Sorry, we will go ri- ” 

Familiar amber eyes and green lips smirked at them. “Trista, hey!” Haley beamed for a second, then cast her gaze to her feet when the woman in her warrior’s dress lowered her head.  _ Right, we aren't supposed to be familiar. _

“Yeah, I know yer gonna listen.” She only offered them a wink, “Go on, git.” 

Diarmuid and Haley exchanged smiles, lowering themselves in grateful bows. 

Trista watched the two lovebirds amble to the bleachers, and sighed. “See y'all again soon,” she whispered, then sauntered off. 

\-------------------------------------------

Forty-three. Only forty-three Forsaken left. Disbelief set in as they read the results reflected on the watch and plastered all over the screen in their cozy hotel room. The Forsaken’s numbers wilted like flower petals being plucked by a lovesick woman.

The tournament paid no heed to the necessity of breaks. They only had two day's rest, and the countdown began in an hour. It seemed their Hosts were in a rush to move the tournament along to the next Boss battle. 

Haley peered over at her Knight. Late morning sun softened the harsh edges of his expression. Freshly showered, the man was dressed in a humble tank top that contoured to his brawny body. Tight black jeans framed his legs but his feet were bare.

His back propped against a stack of pillows and legs outstretched, Diarmuid lounged with a sizable book in his lap. One hand held the binding, while his long fingers flipped through the pages, entirely engrossed.

He appeared tranquil, eyes tracking the lines of the story. Haley inched closer, catching a snippet of the text. “And within the realms of the Underworld, a divine spirit was entrusted, an archangel of sorts, meant to ward off intruders.” 

Her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “A story of the Underworld, I presume?”

“Indeed. It tells of how the Observers came to be, and their purpose. After our short re-acquaintance with Trista, and after spotting this book in the Hotel’s Library, my curiosity piqued.” Diarmuid closed the book and planted it softly onto the cushions of the couch. “While my Spirit belongs to Hades, this realm before the Underworld does not. Not entirely.” 

The idea of Diarmuid’s soul belonging to well,  _ anyone  _ definitely darkened Haley’s energy. Hades even more so. “Whom does it belong to, then?” she asked, her thoughts occupied with Diarmuid’s new insight.

The dark haired man outspread his arm and tilted his head as he indicated for the Lady to occupy a seat beside him. She obliged; he coiled his arm over her shoulder and brought her flush against his hip.

Haley was surprised by the invite to cuddle but was happy to encounter the fresh scent of soap and pine. It was a refreshing, earthy smell that reminded her of the home that he boasted about. 

“Heaven has a Saint that guards the gates in the afterlife. This one soul has access to what is called “The Lamb’s Book of Life”. Should your name be recorded, you are granted eternal life. If not…” Diarmuid’s eyes shifted downward to the pellucid blue ones sympathizing with him.

“If not, they cast one down to the Gates of the Underworld. It is an abyss that simulates the world, it is not guarded nor owned by anyone. Rather, it is borrowed by Hades himself. The river of Styx flows through here, connecting Earth to the Underworld. This is where the Shadows drag our souls to.” 

Warrior fingers grazed beneath the soft bangs that covered those beautiful eyes. “To ensure that no other entity attempts to disrupt the order, Observers —the army of the Archangels— guard it.” 

“Huh.. that’s actually interesting,” Haley commented. “So the Observers are like angels themselves.”

Diarmuid shook his head. “They are not necessarily angels, but rather spirits granted angelic abilities. Still, they are powerful, and just.”

Haley nodded, having gained a newfound respect for those souls. Their attitudes made sense, somewhat. If their entire existence here in this world was for keeping entities out... then... this tournament was probably a huge hassle. 

The Lady shifted to stare down at her own loose pink robes. The factors woven into this competition were intolerable. Gods, torture, Observers, bounty hunters, ghosts from Diarmuid’s past, and… the loss that accompanied all of it. 

“So, Lady Haley, how are you faring?” the Knight said, as if he read her very thoughts.

“I... don’t know. Honestly, so much has happened over the course of.. two weeks? Almost three…? And it feels as though I've been hammered by a truck,” she admitted, her voice soft and hoarse.

“I’m just.. sorting out how to handle it all, and still manage to save you.” Something she feared was not even possible. 

The Lady brushed loose hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck. This woman... was so beautiful. More than that, she was _ genuine _ . Despite the circumstances that brought her to this realm, she never lost heart. She stayed true to her word, regardless of the perils that challenged her.

She needn’t be so troubled, Diarmuid thought. “I see. Might I make a suggestion?”

The conflicted woman peeped at Diarmuid with mystified eyes, nodding minutely.

With a quick, graceful swoop, the Knight scooped the worrying woman into his arms. Her long legs kicked over his hard biceps. She was light as a feather… lovely and serene. 

“Hey!” she protested at the unexpected motion.

Diarmuid kept his gaze away from her startled features, plopping her on the bed with a playful bounce.

“Refrain from troubling yourself over it.” A quirky grin spread across Diarmuid’s face when the Lady snatched a pillow and threatened him with it.

“Do you plan to suffocate me to death, my Lady?”

“Ohh, me? A  _ woman?  _ I could never!” The female launched the pillow at the handsome man’s face. Of course his reflexes were sharper than a sword, and the pillow was caught mid-air. 

But - he was up against a telekinetic.

Mindful energy smothered those cursed eyes in the very pillow he held in his hands. 

“MMmmfff!” Diarmuid gargled, as a sensation of waves tingling in his bones dragged his dancing legs onto the bed. 

“What was that…? Sorry, couldn’t hear you under the pillow,” Haley giggled as he wriggled. “Come on, give me the signal that says you yield!” 

If only the woman could see him smirking through the soft material. If she were to allow his hand free to signal any sort of defeat, he would take the irresistible opportunity to strike. 

Sheets crumpled in between his fingers, causing the blankets to roll towards the Knight mashed into the mattress. 

“You sly little scoundrel!” Haley released her mental grip, flipping the pillow over and over onto the knight's drawn-back dark locks. “Oof!” 

Strong hands gripped thin wrists, and Diarmuid forced the sleek woman onto her back, as he hovered over her. A laugh quickly erupted from both parties. “I believe this match to be mine, Lady Haley.” 

“Only because I let you!” she snapped back with a cheeky grin.

The Knight shook his head as the string of hair that refused to be tied back bobbed. “You jest.” 

“No, I...” The tip of her tongue dampened the line of her lower lip. Her arms were caught over her head, in a warrior's ambidextrous hands. Haley felt no fear, though. This man was as gentle as he was kind. Alluring, and playful, but serious when need be. How could such a beautiful soul be destined for…

No. Diarmuid was diligently attempting to lift her spirits. She was done visiting those dark places. 

“I am just having fun, thanks to you.”

Diarmuid guided her dainty right hand to her chest and brought her left to his lips, kissing the little red seal. “I am glad. A smiling face better suits your beauty.”

Haley’s eyelids fluttered. The raw affinity that infused his soft tone merged with the compliment and the sweet-as-honey kiss he bestowed on her. The way her heart threatened to burst like an overripe tomato left her dazzled.

“You... think I'm beautiful?”

The smiling Knight released her other hand and sat back on his haunches. He placed his own mitts on his thighs. 

“I do.” He cast his eyes to the wrinkled, purple sheets. “I hope that it is not an issue.”

“No... I was just... surprised, that’s all.” Haley swallowed the burning sensation in her throat, and ignored the heartbeats that kept skipping. Those heterochromia eyes needed resolution. They concealed his true beauty behind a mask of curses. Spells and evils that twisted his heart like a twizzler. 

“I... I also think that you are very handsome.” She was surprised by her own forwardness, as it mirrored Diarmuid’s. “And I want to bring out the beauty in your heart more… so...”

Before he could respond, she pulled the clueless man down to lay next to her, their shoulders touching. “So let’s remove this damn curse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alriiight, its been a week, right? Right. Whats a few hours? Next upload will be on 7-28
> 
> So the 6 days has finally come to a close. Man, that was a ride I was not ready for. I hope it was action enough packed that you, the audience, enjoyed! Because it was so hard for me to write lol. Anyway, Such fun things happened this chapter! Some cuddling, a fucking Dragon, Diarmuid's beloved weapons finally getting to stick around, a quick rehap with Trista, the background on the Observers, and some sweet pillow fighting and compliments shared between the two growing companions. 
> 
> Stay tuned for the next update, and feel free to let me know what you think! I love hearing comments and responding to them!  
> Have a good week yall!


	32. In the moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end of chapter for an important note!

Pitch black darkness occupied Diarmuid's inner sanctum. Endless walls of vast emptiness. It was eerily quiet. He searched for Haley's consciousness within the realm of his own, but only encountered more silence.

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

Far off in the expanse of his infinite mind, echoed the facsimiles of droplets as they plummeted moments apart into a puddle of liquid. Attentiveness was drawn to the only notes thrumming in his hollow space.

Wine spilled like a waterfall into a river and flowed downstream in thin streaks. No... it was not a fine beverage, it was—

_Him._

Iron clogged his throat, choking his words and pleas for release. Fingers clawed at air, not even able to grasp his own form. Scarlet tears spilled from Diarmuid's eye sockets, as he released an inhuman cry.

A pierced heart followed. A beloved spear's blade skewered the sole wish of a broken Knight- by his own hands.

Betrayed. Hated. Honor lost. _Evil monsters! Suffer in hell! Remember the rage—of DIARMUID!_

A harsh, suffering bellow pleaded for the anger to recede. "Stop! P-Please, I—!"

Anger bubbled in the pot of fury towards all who crossed the fallen Knight. The Knight whose own blood stained the darkness. Diarmuid: trapped in the endless repetition of loyalty lost and honor forgotten.

A man with gelled-back short blond hair and cyanic eyes blanked to the world, rolled across the lot. The wheelchair's tires spun, revealing the broken man for the nasty vermin he truly was. He laughed as he degraded and soiled his former Servant.

Guffawing was stifled by a choking croak. Warrior hands painted in blood, with crushing demonic power unhinged the friends facial joints. The corners of Kayneth's mouth ripped, hooked by the claws of the savage Knight.

A hoof splashed in a puddle of blood, like a severed chin with a dangling tongue. In a blink, the ruptured face stared feverishly at the missing lower half of his features.

"That is—! I would _never_!". A perplexed Diarmuid wept his bedeviled thoughts.

_Calm down, Diarmuid. Just breathe and try to relax. You’ve got this._

"But... Lady Haley… what am I supposed to—" in a snap, the atmosphere in his mind liquified, running like lava into the next depiction of the evil perpetrators.

Small puffs of vapor coalesced to form a cloud, exposing a man with hardened, onyx eyes, clothed in a black trench coat. As he inhaled the bud of his cigarette, his attention shifted slightly to Kayneth's deformed body, then moved to the crimson-eyed Irish Knight. The bubbling pot that was Diarmuid's emotions intensified from a small simmer to a full boil.

This man managed to provoke Kayneth to utter the command for Diarmuid's suicide. The vile, disgusting filth trampled on the honor of a Knight, and specifically targeted him, even in the hells of the world. He would pay heavily for his transgressions against him.

In an instant, the trail of steam leaking from the butt at the man's emotionless mouth swirled around the black-haired man's body. The deranged image of Diarmuid sniped the butt from his mouth, jabbing the smoking end into the large lump in the man's throat.

Flames spread like a brush fire, engrossing the Magus Slayer. The Japanese man's flesh burned and slid off bone like lava slowly flowing down a mountain. A human skeleton was all that remained, and the cursed man’s bones collapsed in on themselves from one powerful punch.

Maniacal laughter erupted from the clicking and clacking of scattering bones. Shells of the body were snapped in half by the bestial man that was once a Knight… but had now fallen into the pits of anger and darkness—

_You thought I have forgiven you for stealing Grainne away?_

A copper-colored mustache smiled viciously, revealing white teeth. Matching eyes shone over a young, dying man. His usually-backswept hair was chaotically furrowed in a field of his own blood. His healing water spilled from unforgiving hands, leaving the Knight to succumb to fatal wounds.

Deathly eyes suffused with scarlet red and demonic slits striped the dead pupils. Fionn's open palms twisted outward from the clutches of the fallen comrade. A loud snap of bones and a deathly howl from the grizzly man rolled like thunder in clouds.

Hair like a flame snagged downward, bringing Fionn to his knees. Strands of locks shredded from the man's head, after two fingers carved holes into the Lord's eyes.

 _Now it is you who shall have tears of blood pooling from your very eyes!_ A diabolical Diarmuid guffawed in a voice not quite his own. It rasped and hissed like a snake.

Angry hands lacerated intestines free from their bony cage and shoved them down the gaping mouth. Hacking sounds were heard, but the broken warrior did not cease his torture. Clicks and splotching were drowned out by agonized cries that stretched across the void. The once Lord of the Fianna was now unrecognizable.

 _Then I will do my best to save you_. A pitched voice carried in the whispers.

"Lady Haley…" Diarmuid's voice solemnly flowed through the memory.

A blaring crack like a whip of lightning snapped across the forlorn space. Images fuzzy to the eye shimmered reflections of a broken-down image of a woman's face. Like static in a television screen, the image cleared itself.

 _Please—Please don't kill me—_ Scratchy vocals whimpered to be released from a stronghold.

Rage. Mistrust. **End** _her before she denounces_ **you** _._ Pupils blew and crimson curtains blocked any rationality or the light of the man's soul.

She earned it. She lied. She deceived him. There was a _reward_ for herself that she conveniently left out.

His inner realm turned black as a cat in the night, leaving only the sound of a _click._

The woman's fragile neck suffered in his deathly grip, before he snapped it like a twig. Her body slackened in his hold, the light gone in the foggy, cerulean eyes that were once adored. No, she needed to suffer more; to feel the pain she would have inflicted if given a chance.

_She is right next to you… you have not finished her…._

Crimson hands hovered over a sleeping beauty and skewered—

" **NO!**!" Diarmuid's body jerked forward like a slingshot as he panted like a dog in a desert. "Lady Haley! Are you—?"

"Hey, hey! It's okay! I am okay!" Haley said, as she brought herself onto her knees and patted the horrified warrior's back with her left hand, while the right caressed his heaving chest. "I'm right here..."

"I— but did I—Did I hurt you? I was going to.. I saw it… I—"

"Shh…" The concerned woman gently took the right hand that furled around bed sheets in a desperate grip and placed it on the left side of her chest. "I'm fine...see?"

It was as if the pulsating heart underneath his hand anchored his disorganized thoughts into reality.

"Lady Haley... I… I would never do such cruel things... and yet..." The final memory, the wicked attack, where he laid his hands on the woman- it was indeed him. If he were capable of such evil acts in that state against _her_ … the insane wickedness he just witnessed… was just as possible. 

"I could… couldn't I? If... If I let the curse—you would—"

Haley held his flustered cheeks in between her palms and turned his aghast face to mirror hers. "I would be just fine. Diarmuid, I know you won't hurt me." She could not stand to look at his crestfallen face, and brought his profile to her chest. "Just breathe and relax."

Steadily, his arms slipped around the silky robes that covered the Lady's waist. He must look so glum and shameful, but those horrors… 

"But Lady Haley.. I… am capable. I could do those very things… I _have_ done those things."

Diarmuid was not wrong. In his fitful rage, the last imagery that occurred in the blindness powered by the curse, the Lady’s own throat was caught in the crossfire. In the round with the ship, she had been certain he would have torn Kiritsugu to shreds, if not for her intervention. However, he was much better now. The curse was so close to being nonexistent.

"I... know. But Diarmuid, time and time again you broke free of the curse's bindings." Haley said in an attempt to reassure him, but he only clutched her tighter.

"Why... Why would you suffer? I... I don't understand, you play no part in my history... So why do you appear as an enemy?"

That was a good question, and the answer was simpler than expected; and maybe it would help him to relax.

"It's a defense mechanism. The curse is centered around your emotions and mistrust." Haley groomed her fingers through his soft, brushed-back locks. "But the curse is healing, isn't it? Think of why."

Diarmuid pulled back from the Lady’s compassionate hold to meet her stare. "Because of you."

The curse healer nodded, and placed her right hand on the solemn warrior's cheek. She thumbed the tepid skin.

"Yes, so naturally it will twist me in any way it can to enable it to still reside within you."

"And the... _other_ imagery, my Lady?" The woman shook her head and long chestnut hair fell over her shoulder.

"I can't say. You'll... understand later… but for now just know that this will pass." 

Diarmuid relaxed into her touch, and contoured his left hand on hers while it still rested upon his face.

"In good light, half of the red in your eye is gone…" she said after she examined his brilliance. She let her hand fall back to the mattress. "I feel this to be the last stand against your curse."

Diarmuid could only lower his head in understanding. Those vile acts performed by his own hands as they yanked at the barriers he put in his mind... He could never kill so heinously, no matter how much distaste he had for his enemies. He was once stoic in nature, and was now the opposite. Why did things have to be such a way?

The Knight attempted to get a grip on himself. It was all too real. Whatever magic created such illustrations utterly unnerved him. He studied the woman before him as she adjusted the folds of her nightgown, and sank into the bed.

"Are you tired...?" he asked, even though the answer was evident in the drooping of her eyelids and the way she dragged herself down, as though she were moving iron.

"Yeah, being kicked out of your mind like that carries a heavy burden…" 

Haley waved her hand dismissively, knowing—even with her eyes firmly shut—that Diarmuid was heavy with guilt. "It happens, you are not the only one to be rattled like that."

Diarmuid cradled the back of his neck, unsure of what to think. What exactly did his rude ejection do to their process; and worse, what of the Lady? Removing her from his mind was pure reflex. He had not wanted to see any harm come to her, metaphorically or literally. Yet still, pushing her away inadvertently had afflicted her.

In his own way, he was also drained. The Knight collapsed next to the crashing woman in the velvety sheets. Diarmuid rolled on his side to glide his hand down her shoulder, to the hand he wished to hold. She stirred from his stroke, and half-lidded eyes gazed up at him.

"I… I don't know how to ask this without it… sounding weird, okay?" she asked. Diarmuid's sullen features gave away little as he nodded for her to continue.

In response, she took the caressing hand lightly to pull him closer to her. "Want... to… cuddle…?"

In retrospect, Haley had not a clue what any of that _actually_ entailed. At no point in time did she feel her friend would consider it. The idea only struck her because in their shared past, something similar did once occur.

Just as it was at this moment, she had been beaten down from a magic drain, and had suffered a nightmare. She’d then awoken in the arms of her Knight, who had offered her solace from the dreams. Thinking further, that was _not_ the only time.

In a moment of uncertainty before the third round began, Diarmuid's lap had doubled as her pillow. Under mental duress from the loss of new companions, she’d found herself across his thighs. When tuckered out from aiding the fallen warrior, yet again his chest had provided a place of comfort.

When did he and she become so familiar? And at what point had this… sputtering of her heart become so pronounced?

"I…" Diarmuid wavered for just a second, unsure of what he wanted to do.

The proposition in these circumstances was discordant with past occurrences. However, he had declared to himself earlier that he would be honest with his sentiments. Having a beating heart only amplified those delicate feelings.

Oh, how that was such a crazed thought! To venture down the path of the _emotions_ he scurried like a mouse away from. A dead, cold man such as himself…

"I would be glad to, Lady Haley." The words spilled like water from a cup, and it was too late to retract them. The glimmer in those crystalline eyes was too much to deny or revoke, anyhow.

A weak smile formed on Haley's features. Unexpected warmth burst through her chest and she… _liked_ it.

Dare she think: _I... like being with_ **_him._ **A second wave of exhaustion hit, as the drowsy woman wrapped her arms around her Knight like a little girl would enfold her favorite stuffed animal.

The Lady buried herself under his chin as the fragrance of vanilla graced his senses. Effortless it was, to cradle the back of her head and to lace his fingers into the flexile threads of her satin strands. His other hand was adventurous, gliding along her back like a kite, stopping just above her bum.

 _She is scenic, like a sunset above a valley of flowers…_ he thought, enchanted by how inimitably she was tailored to his snuggle.

"Thank you… for all that you do." Diarmuid whispered, knowing full well she was out cold and could not hear him. Swallowing any dithers, he then planted a feathery kiss to her forehead. "You are extraordinary."

\------------------------------------

Arms still locked around the slumbering woman, a glum Diarmuid shook Haley to wake her. A little rumble left her lips, while she tugged at his tank.

"Five more minutes…"

A warm smile heated Diarmuid's heavy heart, but it was time they did not have. "I am sorry, but we only have two hours before we have to report to the Arena." He said, easing out of her grip. "And you must eat and prepare yourself."

Haley turned over on the mattress, to stare up at the walls overhead. _Two hours?_ she said to herself. _I was_ **that** _tired?_

Dismayed by the reality that she’d slept for an entire _day,_ the astounded woman slipped off the bed and stretched her thin arms above her head. Haley felt like her body was deep in snow, trying to maneuver forward. The curse healing magic shouldn't have put that much strain on her.

 _Well, it is a strong curse, s_ he reasoned with herself, sluggishly crossing the room to the closet to retrieve some attire. The cream-colored doors squeaked open, and she pulled another simple green t-shirt and pair of blue jeans from the red hangers.

She shot a glance to Diarmuid as he dialed for room service. In previous conversations, she had expressed a desire to taste more of Ireland's signature foods, so she allowed him to order cuisines he fancied. After retrieving the socks, she peered at the boots that were given to her.

Those gorgeous, steel grey, calf-high boots made her stomach do backflips. She wanted to never sully their beauty, and was desperate to wear them again. Hopefully, Haley and her Knight would be granted time outside the hotel again.

 _Well... maybe not with the damn bounty hunter here._ She practically growled at the thought, and almost slammed the doors together.

Diarmuid watched the woman stomp off to the bathroom, the door lazily cast closed. He wanted to question what _that_ little snit was about, but shrugged it off. He slumped into the sofa, already missing the snugness from their… cuddling. A pitiful sigh escaped, and he wondered just how long he was to put this off.

Should he tell her? What would he even say?

_My Lady Haley, I rather enjoy your company in some ways… that I myself find it hard to explain or understand. Do you harbor the same fondness?_

"That sounds utterly ridiculous," he grumbled, as he leaned over the sofa's armrest for the hilt of Moralltach. _If only I were not… well, cursed, passed on… and on a ferry to the Underworld. Just a few things to list as to why this is mere foolishness._

Another heavy breath exhaled, as Diarmuid revered his lovely sword. Still such a beautiful cherry-red and dark combination, with striking power added. A present bestowed upon him (ironically) from Manannan, a God of the otherworld. Such great battles had this deadly sword brought. If only it had accompanied him on his final hunting trip…

A door locked shut, and the sulking Knight removed his scrutiny from his old weapon, and realigned his eyes with the woman plopping on her rear at his boots.

"I'm sorry I slept so long," Haley said, dragging her index finger down the cool blade, "I'm not usually this sleepy."

"Could it be that the dealings of this tournament are taking their toll, my lady?" Diarmuid probed curiously, angling the sword with its counterpart, Gae Dearg, against the wall at the corner of the couch.

The lanky woman shrugged. "Maybe. I have been through a lot," she chuckled, smoothing out the wrinkles in her blue jeans. "Speaking of which… How do you suppose the next round will go?"

The Irishman shrugged his powerful shoulders. Every time he thought he understood the rounds, they baffled him in impossible ways. "Not quite sure, but my weapons shall not lose their luster. We will prevail, as always."

Diarmuid leaned forward on his braced elbows, the fragmented light from the terrace bestowing their dabs of light on the corner of his features. That simple motion made Haley's heart miss a tick.

She cast her gaze at the weapons her Knight mentioned, trying to stifle her goggling. More and more was she becoming captivated by his charm, and he wasn't even _doing_ anything. Was that what it felt like, to be swooned by his lovespot? Man, she truly felt bad for the women who were properly entranced by it. It was… a weird feeling, for sure.

"Are we supposed to bring them with us?" she asked, trying to stay on topic.

"Yes, we retrieved a notification before you awoke. It stated to bring the weapons, and the time to report."

Haley fell onto her back, sprawled across the carpet. No mention of the rewarded torture keys this time around. They still have two left.. and wondered what their next call of use might be. 

Those keys.. Each had a purpose given to them in the Arena. Helpful, those little trinkets that they tortured themselves for. Before she could muse on them further, a few knocks registered in the room.

 _Well, guess we will find out how useful it'll be in the Arena,_ she thought, and ventured to the door to retrieve whichever new delight awaited her from Diarmuid's culinary history.

\---------------------------------

It was strange, sitting in a room surrounded by competitors who had dwindled to such smaller pairings. Just how many were lost in the previous trials? How many were living people, like Haley, who died either by another combatant or from the Arena's tools themselves?

It was unnerving. The few she had met all had goals of saving someone in mind. Even the worst of the competition (in her eyes) wanted to be free from the chains that bound their souls to the Underworld. They were all fighting for dreams of freedom she was not certain would come true.

Surveying the lot, she spotted Kiritsugu in the signature orange jumper, next to his son in a sports-like outfit, while Kayneth was at the opposite side with... some man she instinctively felt was out of place. There was a mystic piece of sorcery engulfing his average build. His ashy brown hair was in a messy man bun, and the buttoned vest over a long sleeved collared shirt with khakis hollered his Britishness.

 _What is so strange about that guy?_ Haley pondered, averting her gaze when Kayneth's scorn met her nosiness.

The dual wielder seated next to her on the benches was fully occupied by his weapons, cleaning the shaft of the spear with his tangerine colored sleeve. A spear that pierced through magical defenses, and a sword that brought about certain death and victory when called. Formidable attire for sure. Haley prayed the ‘certain death’ bit wasn't going to be necessary.

 _As if_. She would be a damned idiot to think her warrior wouldn't have to utilize its perks. If she learned anything, death was a must, even if she were conflicted about it.

As time ticked on, Diarmuid conversed with the Lady to calm her nerves. There was no instruction given on this next round, just that they would understand once they were brought to the surface. The mystery that surrounded the possibilities served to rattle his nerves.

During their little chatter, pairs of contenders were called forward by Ozzard, the Observer who had whipped his ass. Every so often, Diarmuid peeked at the confident man. A warrior of the Archangels... to think he was blessed with the opportunity to spar with one, and that he had lasted as long as he had... truly, it was a spectacle he would not forget.

"Detainer Haley and Forsaken Diarmuid, come forth."

Diarmuid shifted Moralltach to accompany Gae Dearg in his left hand, offering the Lady his right. He twined his hand with hers and drew her up to stand. Haley breathed deeply, giving him the sweetest smile. It was adorable, how she prepared herself.

Haley released her Knight's hand and strolled with him over to the Observer. She remembered this time to forgo their familiarity, keeping her eyes trained on the green cleats she bought.

When a gloved hand gripped her wrist, she leveled her azure orbs with the teal ones.

"Good luck," was all the man murmured, before Diarmuid and Haley were both greeted by an effusive crowd.

Haley stared intently at her left wrist as it was frozen outward, the Arena hidden in the abyss of her confusion. _What was that about?_

Diarmuid's left hand linked with her right, giving it a firm squeeze. His anxious eyes strained against what was across from him.

The intense grip Haley's Knight had on her hand brought her inquisitive trance across to Diarmuid, who was fixated on something before them. Following his line of sight, Haley stilled, clutching that hand back just as hard.

"Ey Fersaken, time to end ya," their opponent stated, leaning against air, weapons at the ready.

Diarmuid's mouth barely formed the words, before Haley blew them out:

"... _No_..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fuuuun chapter to write! The imagery for this chapter oof, hope it spooked ya! Also, in a few chapters, I will posting a question. Please keep an eye out for it, as I would really love the reader's perspective on this choice. I LOVE writing this, and don't want to push away anyone reading.
> 
> Anyhow, hope yall are enjoying, and look forward to posting more! I have the entire story planned out and hoof, its such a ride! Next update shall August 4th! See ya there!


	33. Respect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO here is the big question I will be asking on every update coming forward:
> 
> I have a scene I want to write that is explicit. It adds so much more to the story. If I have any avid readers: Are you okay with this? The LAST thing I want to do, is shy anyone away who was enjoying the fact this fic is T rated. So please, feel free to give me your thoughts. I listen to my readers 100% if any of yall are uncomfortable with it: I will leave it out, despite how badly I want to write it in lol Idc if its my fic or not, its the readers who I want to get the most enjoyment out of it. So please, let me know! 
> 
> (uploading the scene as a separate piece i doubt will work as it will contain massive spoilers to anyone who goes to read the fic after reading the scene, so im a little unsure about doing it that way.)
> 
> If anyone is shy about commenting their thoughts, feel free to comment an emoji. A smiley face means yes, and a sad face means no. I promise you, I will take no offense! Anyway to the story!

"What… are the terms for this match...?" Diarmuid breathed as he leveled his alternating emotions.

Across the flat surface of a sheeny, white-tiled battlefield, the Observer’s green lips held a sanguine smile. It made the Irishman sink deep into dread.

"It's simple- to the death. Aim fer my Spirit Cores: Head or Heart. If I die, y’all win. I strike yer heart, and yer off to Hades." Trista stated blandly, then eyed the baffled woman. "Yer Detainer can only assist ya with magic. There is to be no healin’ and I wont be targettin the girl."

These rules were absurd, and not in their favor. Obvious reasons were behind the "no healing" bit, but only magic to assist Diarmuid? He was to fight an  _ Observer-  _ a Divine Spirit whose very existence outclassed Gods and the like- with enhancement magic alone? Of course, Haley could tap into the illusion magic she wielded, but she and Diarmuid had another important use for that surprise factor.

This match was hell: it felt like they were meant to lose.

And what would happen to Trista if they won? How do you  _ kill  _ a soul? Haley stepped forward while her figure trembled vigorously. "B-But... what happens if you're struck down? Aren't you… a soul too?"

Trista hesitated momentarily in debate of answering that question. She went with a simple answer, as she unsheathed her slate sword at her hip. "I disappear fer good. My Spirit becomes dispersed energy. But it ain't gonna happen, even with the power locks." The pale woman winked.

Why? Why was this happening? Haley's thoughts were jumbled. All of the emotional bells she had buried were now exhumed like the dead. Trista would vanish... forever? Morally— that was unacceptable. How was any of this fair to either of them?

The fraught woman's glossy eyes transferred to Diarmuid, whose expression looked wounded. He too must be agonizing over what was at stake here. Yes- at first Trista was mildly provocative, but by the end of that day, Haley knew the Knight had come to respect her. She had thought the same, when the compliment was returned.

The woman had also taught Haley some great techniques. In their hours of training, Trista was down-to-earth, informative, and even  _ fun. _

Now they had to kill her?

And did the warrior even care that she had to forsake Diarmuid?

"What, y’all just gonna stand there, or am I to strike first? I'm giving ya a chance to win here. Once I go all out, there's no turnin’ back," Trista called, snapping back both horror-struck combatants into the reality that this was indeed happening.

Their faces reflected such conflicted emotions; the Observer honestly felt for them. This was not a scene she wished to entertain either, but orders were orders. No matter her personal judgement: the chivalrous man was her unfortunate adversary, and she had to end It.

_ Sucks- it really does,  _ Trista thought. When she had been informed who her opponents were, her moral compass had flickered. The screens provided insight on the Irish Spirit's character, as did her previous interaction with It. It was kind, and respectful… It definitely cared for that girl, who was far too sweet for this kinda place.

All melodramas aside, something about this Forsaken was off: and it was not the missing bits of the curse (which she remembered being much heavier the last time they’d met). The choice to have a seasoned warrior like herself come up against It was because they thought her power would be a more equal match for It than the rest. Even Ozzard had admitted that when they sparred, he sensed the thing wasn't quite the same as the rest.

The silver-haired woman shook her head, and some frizz clung to her cheek.  _ Troublin’, fer sure. _

Diarmuid's hands clamped around the handles of Moralltach and Gae Dearg defensively. An opponent was an opponent, no matter how much he valued them. It still unnerved him.. Even during the pursuit of himself and Grainne, he’d never struck down his companions, nor his superiors.

Then there was the matter of the Lady, whom he unquestionably knew was in great turmoil. "Master, I know you have your reservations about this, as do I. What say you?"

"I…" Haley's heart felt like it was submerged in ten feet of water, and she had no time to resurface. If she chewed her lip any harder, she would have no mouth rim left.

Cerulean eyes darted between the two battle-posed warriors. One was covered by a gorgeous turtle-necked dress that was grey at the breast, with silver armor around her torso. The loose fabric ended above the woman's knees, exactly where the matching metal boots stopped. Her steely hair was tied back in a bun. The other wore a scraggy orange jumper that did nothing for his gorgeous physique.

Diarmuid's soul, or Trista's? Could she make that decision? Did she have the right to?

The woman (whose emotions now roiled in terrible flux) wrapped around Diarmuid’s toned body from behind.

Whether or not she deserved the power didn't matter. Haley had made a promise, and it was not that soul's fault for the nigh-impossible challenge that lay before them. So a choice was made- no matter the consequences.

"I... will always choose you... so..." Haley's hands palpated his midriff in a firm, supportive squish. "You have to win!"

Diarmuid's peripheral vision registered his Master backing away from him after her pride-boosting hug and proclamation of devotion. With those few words, she tossed away her convictions, for  _ his  _ safety. It was maddening how powerful the affectivities swirling in his chest were because of it.

"Y’all got thirty seconds before—" Trista scolded, but Diarmuid raised his hand, palm up.

"Please allow me to offer you my gratitude for letting us come to grips with the stakes of this ordeal. With… much dissatisfaction, we are ready."

"Dissatisfaction eh? Interestin’ choice of last words." Trista said, as she tried to disperse an awful feeling in her gut. These two weren’t making her task any easier.

"Indeed. We do not wish to kill you, however..." Diarmuid's eyes drifted behind him to the woman who nodded in agreement, her stare glued to the floor as if it offered her solace. "I do not wish to end here." 

He said the last in a rough whisper, returning all of his attention to the warrior before him. "For if I do: everything we have already done has been for naught. So I... apologize in advance for what I must do."

"Jeez… ya really do got heart. Too bad I will be gorgin’ it out!"

The mad dash the woman made left little room for striking- instead, Diarmuid parried the long blade of her weapon with the length of his Gae Dearg. Sparks flew from the intensity of the first contact, and metal scraped against metal in a frenzy.

Diarmuid's left hand aimed to crack down on the back of the woman's neck until his abs screamed, and the walls of the box they were in cracked under his spine. If that was the power of her  _ knee _ … the warrior now knew why she had dismissed him when they had first met.

_ Holy hell! Diar—! Do—Do I have to enhance you fully to take her on?!  _ Haley shouted into Diarmuid's thoughts, eyes locked on to the Observer's deathly focused stare on her comrade.

_ Proceed halfway as I feel her out. We must not waste your magic so soon.  _ Diarmuid managed to telepathically respond just as he leveled Moralltach with an incoming forward slash that made his bones tremble.

Such savage force behind a woman's strikes was unfathomable. To judge by her appearance, Trista only possessed a slight build and moderate tone to her biceps and thigh... but the weight of each downward slash felt like a hammer on his defensive rebuffs. It was exhilarating.

In another monstrous blow, the Knight's dual-wielding skills worked wonders, as Moraltach blocked a snipe for the legs, while Gae Dearg’s aggressive slash just missed the edges of her curves. The jab required the woman to leap back. The mild opening allowed Diarmuid to stab his spear for her chest.

Despite his practiced reflexes, Trista seemingly winked out of existence. Air registered in a rush on the warrior's back end. A twirl on his ankles saved his spine from another earth-shattering burst.

The woman was not even breaking a sweat. Her movements were pure, disciplined elegance. Diarmuid knew he had to step up his game after the muscle-jarring knee slam, but her speed matched her brawn. It was as if he were up against a falcon. All her power came down like a meteor with talons.

The woman's usual daunting smile was replaced with placid determination. Her customary playful attitude was now all callous precision and stoic expertise; each blow crafted to be a fatal mark, or to create the space for one. It was absurd how she left no opening: she truly did mean to  _ finish _ him.

Diarmuid exhaled a steadying breath, as the repetitive clang of their weapons ceased and they circled each other like wild animals out for each other’s throats. Winning here required more than just enhancement magic and his own adroitness. So he studied her movements and calculated as many plots and ploys as his brain could muster.

Intent on removing herself from the open flooring of their battlefield, Haley brushed up against the sizzling barrier that nicked her skin. Her arm jerked in minor aggravation as she stepped forward.

Lower lip nestled under her top teeth, the brunette watched wordlessly as the two combatants went at it again after a brief respite. The movement of the two warriors were untraceable, except for the sparks that flew to signal the brutal power of their collisions.

Undeniably, the Detainer of Diarmuid was worried: for when the flooring underneath them erupted like a detonated bomb, the Irish Knight slid on his side as he miraculously dodged a long blade directed to his heart. On his feet in a blur, his crimson spear spun in a frenzy that deflected flurries of over- and under-handed slashes.

_ How is he supposed to do anything against that?  _ Haley ruminated, when the first wound was inflicted by their antagonist. She winced when Diarmuid’s garments and flesh peeled open like a banana underneath his pec.

The telekinetic's magic itched to heal the injury, but Diarmuid was on top of the woman like a panther. The opportunity for him to swing his sword's thick blade into the warrior's shoulder came about due to exposing a vulnerability.  _ He's got some sort of plan, but what is it? _

Mild surprise was swept under the rug like dust as Trista rode the low swipe from the Forsaken from Its side. The shoulder of the clever thing was punished by the nub of her sword's hilt, while his belly was hammered by the soles of her boots.

The gladiator was on Its hurtling figure like a cheetah closing in on injured prey. She wanted to end this mercifully, but her rival was exhibiting an interesting perception that required more tedious effort. Even as she lessened the distance before It could regain itself, Its weapons were preemptively crossed longways against Its person.

That long spear ricocheted with the parallel smack of weapons- Trista rolled her leg under feet that had just adjusted the orange tic tac back to upright. She was ready to stab the thing in the gut before Its own sword whizzed past her cheek.

Nonplussed, the woman thumbed the line that slit across her cheek.  _ What in the Heavens _ ?

Diarmuid refused to let up, using the advantage of the Observer's mild shock to bombard the woman with Gae Dearg and his own, incredible speed. His thrusts of the spear were wild but her swordsmanship mastered it equally as well. Trista intercepted his lashes marvelously and slammed both their blades into the concrete.

Considering both hands of the Forsaken were locked tightly on the steel of Its spear, Trista's energy channeled to her right hand; she pulverized Its rib cage with a loud burst, while her left swung her weapon. The Forsaken buckled forward but parried her one-handed strike, forcing her to recoil.

"I gotta say," Trista began, flicking her aching right wrist, "Yer better than what I remember."

Diarmuid channeled oxygen to his burning lungs and fuming upper trunk. He masked the pain under a facade of nonchalance and discourse. He would take any time that was given to him to disregard the downfalls of this Underworld body.

"Indeed. Before- I was merely sparring. This battle, however, requires much more effort."

"Yer full of surprises, let me tell ya." Casually arching her left arm over her head, Trista let the smirk cross her features.

"Anyhow, guess I better go in even harder to finish this!"

_ How wonderful, that Trista’s merciless barrage thus far has been considered restrained,  _ the Knight acerbically reflected. If only his crushed bones agreed. He spied Moralltach in the rubble of the Arena; he rapidly calculated when best to retrieve it whilst also getting another bump-up from his Master's enhancement magic.

The Arena pulsated as Diarmuid inched forward to the Divine energy he felt engulfing Trista's medium form. Over her head appeared a golden bow and a single, matching arrow that she tautly pulled back against the thrumming string.

The Knight's entire body shuddered as her malevolence aimed for his heart. His mind's eye’s ability to deduce a proper course of action against this weapon led him to believe it was inescapable.

_ Well, that is quite unnerving,  _ the Knight prosaically thought as a spiritual wind flowed carelessly about. _ I still have ways to counter it. _

Ending the Forsaken in this way would be the swiftest outcome. With the parameters of Trista's strength capped, even her Grace’s Bow would be limited in its finality- but still, no Forsaken should be able to deter it long.

The Observer was impressed that the Diarmuid fellow cornered her in such a way. Never had she been struck before... alright, maybe  _ once,  _ but it had been puny.

The Forsaken charged: the warrior adjusted her angle, letting the arrow fly.

Diarmuid threw himself back onto the floor, narrowly avoiding the fledged projectile as he slid across the pavement and reunited with Moralltach. Immediately he swung it in a futile attempt to bat away the array of angelic weaponry.

Arrowheads sizzled against the blade of the Irishman's  _ demonic  _ sword and then blasted him with a pure energy that made his entire form burn as though he swam in a raging fire pit. Fortunately, his sword withstood the deific arsenal. It was a gamble he needed to take- or else that point would have made its mark.

Haley's arms crossed over each other to negate the effects of the devastating fulmination of supernatural munitions colliding.

_ Holy shit! What just—  _ Haley began before Diarmuid quickly intercepted her thoughts.

_ Master, I need as much of your enhancement skill as possible. Will this make you tire?  _ Diarmuid asked, as his eyes fell on the swirling wind of energy dispersed from a simple wave of Trista's right hand.

_ No, but strong level enhancements come in intervals, Diarmuid! If I give you it at full strength, it'll only last in bursts, unlike the mediocre ones. What is happening?!  _ Haley asked frantically, her orbs caught on the Observer as she plucked another arrow out of thin air and readied it in her bow.

_ Nothing good, I am afraid. That bow is Angelic. I.. My body's Underworld form is unmatched to it. So I must be as powerful as need be. _

_ Why?! Ugh! This is unfair! No one like you should be able to withstand it, then!  _ Haley had had enough, and she raced in front of Diarmuid with her arms spread wide, blindsiding both combating warriors.

"Trista-  **_PLEASE stop this_ ** !"

Trista's stance remained firm, and only the slight raise of her eyebrows showed any sort of emotion. "Ya realize yer standin’ there does not impede me in any way, right?"

"Jesus, Trista! Didn't you tell me you were one of the nicer ones when we trained together?! That you were  _ fair _ to the souls of the Underworld!?" A dark shine that overtook the look in Trista's jade colored eyes, but Haley couldn't care less. 

"Wasn't it also  _ you  _ who told us that you weren’t so terrible?!"

The recurve in the Observer's hands lowered. "Girl, if I wasn’t bein’ lenient, yer friend's body and heart would be skewered by now. And if It didn't have a chance, this bow would not be aimin’ for it."

"But this—!" A heavy hand palmed her shoulder. Desperate crystal blue eyes evened with adamant honey ones.

"Trista is speaking truth, Lady Haley. If not, she would not even consider taking this moment to speak with you." Diarmuid said with mild irritation. "Do you not have faith in my capabilities?"

"What—! No, of course I do!" Haley sputtered as if she were injured by that question. "I just... With that bow and what it's meant to do…"

While Diarmuid understood her concern and was relieved she didn't question his abilities, interrupting their duel was reckless. They were both incredibly lucky Trista did not strike them _ both _ down where they stood. He shot the superior a glance and she nodded respectively in conjunction with his statement, of that he was certain.

"That is the element of danger we agreed to. It is her duty to our battle to use everything within her disposal as I am doing the same." The Knight stated, "You must retreat, and allow me to bring us victory."

"If I were you, I'd listen to yer Ferksaken and get outta the way before I lose my patience." The Observer called. The woman was fortunate her words were reflective of her leniency. Plus, If that girl kept yapping, she might inadvertently attract more trouble than Trista's battle methods.

Haley felt like a humiliated student being lectured for speaking out of turn in school. Swallowing her shame, she retreated to the humming barrier, and raised her face to meet her Knight's scolding stare. "I'm sorry."

Frustration cast aside, Diarmuid offered her a forgiving smile, then returned his full attention to the respected warrior. "Shall we continue?"

"Let me warn ya first: if that happens again, it'll be the end for both of ya." Trista admonished them with a hint of a scowl.

"Understood." The Knight huffed, as he adjusted his stance and weapons back into his palms. It was unfortunate his lady had interrupted the momentum he was going for- but it had given him time to think of a counter.

During his musings, the previously restrained arrow was liberated. With a surging power from Haley, Diarmuid lunged like a jackrabbit. The blessed trajectile blurred past him, and the Observer's expression wavered for just a second.

The bow was cast aside, dispersing like vapor into the atmosphere while Gae Dearg kissed the ground. With lightning speed, Diarmuid gave chase with a velocity that outranked the speed he held as a Servant.

Closing the gap between himself and the fleeing warrior was effortless. With increased momentum, Gae Dearg's length—coupled with the striking power of Moralltach—became obscured by the way the Observer skillfully countered. The gnawing sensation in his chest grew wilder, as his vigorous movements against Trista pushed limitations he fought to ignore.

As if reading his damned mind, Trista hurled more weight into her baffling movements as she mirrored the Irishman's past contrivances, purposely taking a blow level that balanced weight into his pulverized bones.

Haley bit back her scream. It was horrifying to just stand by and  _ watch  _ as he fought for his damn life out there. The private thoughts of Diarmuid reassured her and the confidence she had built in his strength reaffirmed this was all according to his plan. That would never take away how painful it was to watch as what would normally be irreversible damage to his body was exploited like that.

It was worse that the pain inflicted by Observers to his form was amplified…after surviving years of torture, she knew how horrible he must feel. It sucked immeasurably that  _ this _ was how they had to win. Her heart threatened to torpedo out of her chest as he was rammed like a bull into the cement.

Hiding the wince in his clenched jaw, Diarmuid landed with a loud thud. Bones crunched under his opponent’s foot, and air fought to flow under the woman's pressure. His entire sternum was reduced to bread crumbs that trickled about into his lungs.

The Knight bucked up his entire lower half, knocking the woman off balance just enough where the swivel of the crimson spear caught Trista clean through the plate protecting her torso.

"Yer—spear can pierce—armor?!" Trista spat. She ejected In a hurry, the spear being ripped from her insides as she freed herself from it, and she narrowly escaped the follow-up strike from the Forsaken's sword.

Diarmuid's intuition was correct: similar to his battle with Saber, this woman also strongly relied on magically-induced armor. His only grumble was that he hadn't anticipated a rock solid limb on his already mangled upper body.

The Knight heaved, desperate for oxygen in his burning chest. He just needed five more—

_ DIARMUID- THE ARROWS!  _ Haley screeched into his consciousness.

Diarmuid whirled. A cyclone of pure demonic energy was created as Moralltach and Gae Dearg both sang against divine assailants.

Magic infused itself into Haley's Knight's physique once again as the frail woman was slapped to the ground by shock waves of swirling supernatural currents. It was as if gravity wanted Haley's vision to be of the crusty lines in the tiles after being struck by those two's detonation.

Through the pounding in her head, the telekinetic elevated her view of her Knight who survived the blast. As the gyrating atmosphere around Diarmuid evened out, Trista stalked toward him predatorily.

The Observer's ashen locks spilled from the clip, sending a frizzy mess down to her shoulder blades. The gash in her abdomen swelled, yet not a single of her steps seemed affected by the injuries. A light smile turned up her smeared green lips.

"I... am impressed, Fer—Diarmuid. Yer calibre, reflexes—and by the Angels—yer instincts are astoundin’," she said, as the man sank low to the ground in a crouch. "Fightin ya has been a damn pleasure and ya have my respect."

Diarmuid attempted a chuckle, but the sound was dry and wheezy due to his suffering thorax. "I—am honored—" he gasped, as he choked on his words. Even with the hiccups, this match proved to be the most fun thus far. The woman was honorable, and powerful, just as the stories proclaimed.

Trista's sandy eyes softened. "Well, time to finish ya," she said mournfully, as she swayed her head side to side. "Fer what it's worth hun- I'm truly sorry."

Diarmuid balanced himself upright on the handle of Moraltach as Trista's incursion seemed unavoidable.  _ Seemed. _

The Knight lifted his face with a prideful, jubilant smile. "Moralltach," he whispered, just as the woman closed in; magic filled every fiber of his being.

Like a speeding bullet, Diarmuid shot at his opponent with a blood-red and charcoal- colored sword. The two warriors collided: The Great Fury flurried strikes to snap the woman into the barrier that surrounded their battle ring.

"Iicckk!" Trista howled, as the electric current surged. Pockets of steam streamed from her limbs as she smacked down into the pavement. Palms flat, the Observer propped herself up, only to see that Diarmuid soared above her— his sword was granted two extra blades over his head and then he brought it down.

The Arena erupted like a volcano and spread debris like wildfire. Haley's mental grips were all that kept her in place, as she battled to withstand the tornado that was Diarmuid's sword. As she forced herself onto her feet and raked pebbles from her long, frazzled chestnut hair, she searched for the outcome of Diarmuid's ultimate maneuver.

Azure eyes widened when the results revealed themselves after a voice blared overhead. "Please...don't…" Haley whispered.

Surrounded by blighted slabs, Diarmuid's sword was snug in the flooring adjacent to Trista's beet-red face. The woman's clothes were shredded to pieces and revealed lacerated, pallid skin. She looked like paper that had been scissored by a careless child.

Diarmuid himself hovered over her. Moralltach was the only thing keeping him upright as an arrow was deeply impaled between his shoulders, piercing the center of his chest. His nerves were paralyzed by the celestial power.

With his tactics, the Knight enticed Trista to make the mistake of believing he was too winded to maintain the fight. He even faked a rasp or two to sell it. The Irishman knew for sure she was misled the moment she offered him her piece. While the roaring in his chest was insufferable, her restraint against him provided just enough opportunity to allow Moralltach to do its job...

Until an arrow skewered him from behind, and his trajectory suffered for it by mere centimetres. In his descent, she mouthed something and her Angelic Bow appeared. Its aura shielded the woman from the worst of Moralltach’s devastating wounds.

Now, for the first time ever, Diarmuid was at a loss for what to do. His Master's boosts were limited; his body officially refused to budge, now that the arrow had burned through every ounce of his nerves. The woman below him barely held a breath, as her eyes fluttered open and closed.

Did the arrow that had missed his heart by a thread signal his loss?

The Knight swallowed when Trista's right hand palmed the left side of his pectorals. He'd seen an Observer strip a soul before by simply laying their hands flat against their own Spirit Cores in such a manner. He guessed he’d lost, then.

"Yer heart is poundin’," the woman said hoarsely, as she swayed her fingertips delicately from side-to-side and the Forsaken flinched under her touch. "Don't worry sweetheart… I won't stop it from beatin' today."

Trista let her hand smack to the ground. Even with all her defenses, the Irish warrior snuck past her for the victory, even if it didn't seem like it. Her physical form was pinned to the cobbles beneath them from their mangled collision. "Not gonna lie: I don't wanna disappear here... But go on- I can't grip my weapons, so I can't finish ya."

Bewildered by her comments and instruction, Diarmuid tried to flex his fingers, but every fibre of his body rejected him. "I—cannot move…" he stated with a raspy tone. “And I must— admit—your statement pains me...”

"Jeez… yer somethin’.. else..” Trista's trance slanted to the girl behind him. 

The Panel  _ could _ lift the rules in their favor, and allow the girl to take the finishing blow. However, something told the Observer that doing so would bend that logic  _ Trista's _ way and have her yank Diarmuid's spirit, since her hand could move. 

That stupid idea filled her with a shame she was not ready to entertain. Not when the damn thing wanted to show her mercy. "Guess... it’s a draw?"

"Are... such things permitted?" Diarmuid pondered out loud; he hoped that after her proclamation, it would be a possibility. His inquiry was answered by a light that emitted from the Observer underneath his body.

Trista grimaced when her wounds stitched together marvelously beneath a spiritual magic. Around them, the barriers that trapped their battle to Arena disintegrated in a downward shimmer to reveal the silent, anticipating crowds.  _ Great. More interruptions. _

"It has been foretold that the Detainer may not heal their Forsaken, but nothing of the like for the Observer." The god of trickery and guile: Dolos' mischievous voice boomed in the Arena, "Finish him, Trista."

Trista's right hand curled around her sword's handle and dragged it with her as she stood. Her eyes were trained on the Forsaken frozen onto the hilt of his weapon. Poor thing's face seemed to honorably accept defeat.  _ What a pain this is, fer sure _ .

Trista lifted her sword's length and swiped.

The shock painted across the Forsaken's face was admirable, as the arrow implanted in Its back dissolved, and the Observer sheathed her blade.

"The match was a  _ draw _ . I ain’t about y’all's dishonorable tactics. Try to remember that before interferin’." She turned her glance back to Diarmuid, who pushed himself upright, but paused at what she assumed was pain from his battered bones.

"Get to the healers, ya earned it."

"Is this... truly alright?" Diarmuid asked breathlessly, marked with anguish and confusion. Remarkably, their duel had ended with neither able to finish the other due to physical ailments… but the Gods clearly made the order that Trista was to harbor the win. 

"Yea, our fight ended when we both couldn't continue, and cheatin’ ain't my style." Trista's frustrated stare aligned with Athena's scrutiny. "I won't be humiliated by losin’ my nobility."

"Preposterous! Just start your fight over!" Loki snarled, as his knuckles turned white from how hard he gripped the armrest.

"Well, if ya healed me, then ya gotta heal him, too. If we're restartin’ the match and all." Trista winked at Loki's provoked features. The man really didn't wear anger magnanimously.

"Tch, they already fought," Cu Chulainn stated blandly, his curled fingers resting under his cheek. "No point in continuing."

"Then liquidate them damn both!" Loki snarled like a mad dog.

A Greek hero stretched in his chair and shrugged with nonchalance. He really didn't care either way- things just needed to get moving.

"We are wasting precious time. We might as well let the two warriors shake hands and go their separate ways~" the white-haired wizard chimed in with a cheeky grin.

"I grow bored of this deliberation: continuing it lacks entertainment. Just be gone with them already." The King of Heroes exhaled, as his golden garbs shimmered brightly.

Between the assembly of confused onlookers and the irritating bickering of Dolos, Loki, and the rest of the group, Athena had had just about enough. This was Loki's Tournament: however, the Observers temporarily obeyed her. If Trista wanted the match to cease, then so be it.

"Enough time is wasted. Let us move on," Athena stated boldly, whipping her locks over her shoulder.

Haley stifled a chuckle. If the Panel of bickering morons were paying any attention, then they would see their cogitation was of no use. The crowd themselves murmured inaudible discussions of the crazily unexpected events that had unfolded before them...

Because the moment Merlin began his little quip, the Saucy Lady had given her and Diarmuid a playful tongue, and strutted off the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fight was a pleasure to write. I am a bit iffy with Haley's, "interruption" but alas, it happened, and writing it out felt wrong somehow lol Anyway, I have newfound love for Trista. 
> 
> And if there is any question on what just happened, rest assure, it shall be answered. 
> 
> Either way, Diarmuid is a force to reckon with :P Hope you enjoyed the fight~!
> 
> Ps, I know its a day early, but screw it. I love posting!


	34. Amours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have changed the rating to Explicit to include a few scenes I feel add more to the story. If anyone is uncomfortable with such changes, please feel free to comment or leave a sad face! I do not want to lose any readers who were enjoying the fact this fic was rate T. Until then, enjoy the next chapter! :D

The trepidation that had lingered darkly in Haley's quivering frame eased. The silver warrior only raised her sword to remove that Angelic arrow and to boldly reject Dolos's directive to terminate Diarmuid's spirit. Then she (hilariously) gave them the shaft by departing as the Panel quarreled. Haley had been ignorant to believe that Trista had callously targeted them.

The telekinetic joined the obviously gobsmacked Knight as he continued to balance his broken weight over his demonic sword. "You okay?"

"I—I am not quite sure what just transpired," Diarmuid huffed out. "But I guess it cannot be helped."

"Come on, let's get you to the Healers before the dumbfounded morons up there change their minds." She psychically assisted the wounded warrior to move underneath the bleachers.

Surrounded by golden walls, rickety beds and other battered contestants, Diarmuid eased into the coiled mattress and laid on his back. His framework felt like it was stomped by stampeding elephants. Honor and pride had both crumbled under those Gods’ trampling feet.

A _draw_. It was not the worst of outcomes, but the stupor that followed was undeniably insane. Just as they had done in their own battles, the Gods had utilized their right to a loophole—but Trista had taken pity on him. Or was it truly the Honor of a fallen match that led to her decision? Had it been a genuine act of chivalry?

A Healer cloaked in white shuffled over and addressed the mess that constituted his bones, while Haley thought of what best to say. Diarmuid's wrinkled eyebrows- and the dullness in those honey eyes tinted with red- hinted he was distraught. The man had so many layers to his beliefs of battle that she was unaware of what exactly it was that bothered him so.

Better to shake the tree for the apples, than to wait for them to fall. "What's wrong?"

"Trista's actions... I am quite uneasy about them. This was to be a battle in which we had no regrets, and used our strengths to face off." With his chest fully restored, and the Healer departed, Diarmuid arched upward. "If she set aside her win for circumstance, I am indeed troubled."

Perhaps to Haley, this idea was rather inane. Battles were not to her liking and as long as they ended victorious, she was content. To the Knight- to the _warrior,_ who had principles and love for battle- a forfeit such as Trista's disgraced him. She scolded herself for being unable to identify with those virtues...

Because it was important to solve the riddle that was Diarmuid's heart to her.

It was a piece of him she held dearly in her hands, and being a seasoned fighter was part of that.

"I... think you misunderstand," she started, not quite sure how to word her approach to this. "I don't think she threw away a win, or whatever." Yeah, she was bad at this, as she registered question marks dancing along his beautiful face. "Pretty sure you both were at a stalemate, and she didn't want the Gods helping her. Trista was all about having a fair fight. I think outside interference to _force_ her to win was against _her_ pride and principles." Haley patted the Knight on his back. "I think that's something you can relate to, right?"

The Knight breathed heavily. "Indeed."

"What would you have done in that situation? Would you have killed Trista if I’d intercepted and healed you against your wishes?"

Diarmuid shook his dark head. "No, I would have refused. There would have been no hon—" Honey eyes shot to the mischievously smiling woman. "I see what you did there."

"See? Don't be upset. If anything... you should be mad at me for intruding where I didn't belong. I was so wrapped up in worry that I didn't think. I—" Haley shot her mournful eyes to her cleats. "I dishonoured you, too. I'm sorry."

Long legs wrapped in orange slid off the rock-hard mattress, and strong arms locked around the brooding woman. "I would not go so far as to say you _dishonoured_ me. But please, do not _ever_ do such a thing again. I know you fear for me and I am grateful: but you must let me do battle freely. We’ve... discussed this."

"We have, and I will. I promise. I know you are a powerful warrior just.. Be careful, okay? Talk to me, tell me your plans, so that way…" Haley backed away from his embrace just slightly, to caress his mellow cheek. "...We can stay together." Realizing that came across a bit too strong for what she attempted to convey, she added, "If you want that."

The woman went to remove her hand, but Diarmuid covered it with his own.

"Of course."

\----------------------------

 _S-should I show him?_ Lip nestled deep under her gnawing teeth, Haley peered at herself in the mirror once more.

Shoulders arched beneath the cropped hemline and threads molded to the slight curves of the sleek woman's hips. At the neckline, a scarf traveled across her collar bone and draped over her arms. At her center, a small bow tied at her navel, allowing the black seams that crocheted a delicate pattern to frill just above her knees.

The majority of the dress was cream colored, but the upper half was black, and matched the darling boots that Diarmuid had picked out for her. Her hair was still waterfall-straight; staring at herself, she decided she would do something different with it, instead of always wearing it down.

She also resolved that she wouldn't show Diarmuid, because she would rather him see the final piece she was assembling in her creative mind."I'm getting it," Haley stated firmly to Diarmuid (who was guarding the dressing room door- or her- she wasn't sure which. Maybe both).

"Was it to your liking, my lady?" Diarmuid asked, chivalrously closing the door behind her as she folded the dress over her arm to hide the design.

"Yes! I want to find some accessories! You wanna get your stuff while I do that?"

Diarmuid looked to the men's apparel and guessed he could allow her to gather what she wanted. It was a bit unnerving. It had been quite some time since he had been invited to a formal gathering of any kind. Most were comprised of drink and celebration.

This was some strange party to mark the halfway point of the tournament and the remaining participants… of which there were only 34 pairings.

"Sure, meet up at the exit when we’re ready?"

"Okay, see you there!" There was cheer in her pitched voice. Another five days to relax with her Knight and she was going to milk it dry… starting with this slap in the face of a "celebration."

The stupid watch stated their attendance was mandatory. And while she rummaged through the fine golds and silvers, she concentrated heavily on how to best pay their respects to those who had lost… to the opponents who were similar to her and Diarmuid, and even those who were demented.

Having settled on what she found as perfect complements to the portrait of herself she had in mind, Haley was waltzing her way to the counter when something caught her eye. It sparkled lightly, but was essentially humble. There was an option to engrave a message on it as well.

Thoughts racing with its potential, Haley nabbed the beautiful trinket with her trusty Knight firmly in mind.

—————————————

Diarmuid fastened the third to last button, and adjusted the collar of his long sleeved dress shirt. Not quite liking the way the navy sleeves covered his wrist, he rolled them to his elbows. He then tucked the curved edges into his black belt and straightened his charcoal jeans. Modern clothes began to suit him, he felt, as he brushed off the toes of his dark dress shoes.

The bathroom door snapped shut as Haley stepped out. Immediately her gaze fell upon the handsome man as he swept invisible dust off his new shoes. "Woah, you look amazing."

"Ah, thank you. I worried this style was a bit too—" Diarmuid's words caught in his throat, when his gaze alighted upon the woman before him as he straightened upright.

His beautiful master had graciously tied up half of her hair with an onyx-colored bow clip. The strands spilled seamlessly with the rest of her long, straight hair. Her bangs were arranged more to the side, to blend with the little locks that fell over her exposed dainty shoulders.

The dress she wore complimented her figure, and the scarf-like top over the crop of her dress had a little gem in the middle. The pretty pearly embossed design matched well with the boots he had picked out for her. She wore light stockings that hugged her lean, taupe-colored legs, and a little looped bracelet that she meticulously turned over on her wrist.

He was stunned speechless by how marvelously she had prepared herself. His outfit could not hold a candle to her natural beauty.

Diarmuid's silence had Haley nibbling her lip. She had hoped to impress the Irishman after he called her beautiful, but now that she felt self-conscious she went a little overboard. "Is mine too much? I... have never been to a party, so I am a little unsure."

"No—Lady Haley—you... are simply stunning," the awestruck Knight stated, giving her his most dazzling smile.

Haley felt heat rise to her ears from the compliment, and wore the blush proudly. In her mind, she was a very plain woman, and fairly skinny because of her history. So she felt greatly reassured when her Knight offered any sort of flattery.

To think that perfection such as Diarmuid would even consider bestowing her with his praise... Her lips lifted and then crooked for a moment. _Did I just think Diarmuid was_ **_perfection_ **?

"That... makes me happy... that you think so… I kinda... wanted to impress you." Words that probably should have been left unsaid were spoken. She immediately wished she could retract them- because surely that admittance would concern the tragic Knight.

She dared to glance at the man through her lashes; he wore the gentlest smile she had ever seen. If he felt any anxieties, the shine in his umber eyes showed no trace of it.

Diarmuid stepped closer and the scent of his cologne wafted through her senses. “That I am.” Palm up and outstretched for her to accept, he leaned forward like the gentleman he was. "Shall we go then, Lady Haley?"

Haley happily planted her hand in his. _He's not bothered that I wanted to impress him then!_ The giddiness that took over felt almost out of character. _We... have come such a way from when he was distant._ She knew she was smiling profusely as his fingers curled around her own and he stepped into her side. 

Cautious with what he physically proposed, Diarmuid smoothly asked if holding her hand as they traveled to the ceremony was alright. While they had purposefully held hands before, this subtle gesture of escort was out of his comfort zone. Most would view this as them being a _couple,_ and while he was internally grappling with that idea, he still hadn't a clue as to the Lady's perspective on it.

Sure, his Master complimented his appealing appearance and had even just now admitted her attempt to attract his attention. She also beautifully admitted (time and time again) that she wanted him to remain loyal to her. The question was how far that fealty extended. Truth be told; dead he still was, and their time together would eventually end—

Which is why he wanted to take a leap of faith. If this little function were a signal they were transitioning to the midpoint of the tournament, time was even more limited now. There was always the risk that they'd lose—as his Match with Trista had proven—so time spent with the Lady became the most valuable factor, aside from his fate, of course.

His fate… what rubbish it was. Given a bewitching spot, forced to flee with his Lord's betrothed, death by a second geas bestowed upon his brother as a demonic boar. To be given a second chance by being recorded in the Throne, to only repeat his history against his wishes. To be betrayed…

It could have ended there- it _should_ have. He hadn’t expected to be trapped with all the curses of the Grail with Angra; tortured by the "evils of the world"; the cursed copy of his Spirit merged with the main core of himself in the Throne, then thrust into the Underworld.

Ah, how fate seemed to despise him… until it brought this wonderful Lady to his side. Even without an answer as to what truly happened at the end of the Tournament should they win, he was grateful. Due to this shady monopoly of his Spirit, he had incurred happiness and attachment. So no matter how short his remaining time, or how uncertain his fate, Diarmuid would attempt to pursue what his heart wanted.

For if he did not go for it- it would be the tragic Knight's only regret when destiny parted them.

Reposed by how she locked her hand in correspondence with his, he led her out of their little living arrangement and made the stroll to what would hopefully be a pleasant evening.

\---------------------------

Little glowing Japanese lanterns appeared to float in the air under the threads to which they were attached, bestowing flickering light at the Lake of the Arena. Streams of modern red and blue lights decorated the fluffy trees that lined the sidewalks. Little alluring game booths were placed sporadically in the large field just before the trails curved behind the Dome to the Sacred Market. 

Medea felt the merest bit of excitement. Where to start with Souichirou? She and the lovely man in his all black suit would enjoy this. The battle against the Observer had taken its toll on the usually average man without the added advantage of her power buffs. A moment to relax and celebrate their win was definitely warranted.

And what was a formal gathering without having some sort of fun? 

The former school teacher guided his love toward the carnival games and instructed Medea on how to win. The beautiful Greek Hero in her gorgeous straight amethyst dress arched her arm. The little dart wedged between her refined fingers aimed for the balloons along the wall. 

The smallest of chuckles left the stoic man’s lips, as the dart clearly missed the plastic bubble of air it aimed for. Medea’s cheeks flushed bright pink, while her crimson lips pouted. She plucked the next dart off the metal counter and tossed it with much fervor, only to miss again. Her left heel stomped into the dirt. 

One of the greatest Magus she was, and yet she could not land this… contraption in a bubble of air? Preposterous! 

“Adjust your grip, Caster,” her beloved instructed, using his bony fingers to adjust her hand and wrist. 

“Thank you, my love,” and she was rewarded! The silly things she aimed for burst with a loud _pop!_

The man behind the counter extracted the little token that lay in the scraps of rubber and presented it to the smiling magus. “You get what falls out.” 

She cupped her hands and a little keychain plopped into her palms. At the end of it was a miniscule version of Merlin that had both former Master and Servant exchanging glances and giggling at the miniature half incubus. 

Medea latched her arm underneath his as they scooted to the next fun booths. Tonight she would retrieve winnings from everything that challenged them, starting with that gigantic stuffed elf.

\----------------------------------

What on earth was he doing here? This level of festivities was below him. To have to… mingle with the pathetic group of individuals that entered this escapade was distasteful. 

“Lord El-Melloi, you should just _try_ to have fun,” Darius said, tipping his wine glass in the direction of the deranged couple that knocked into each other, “Look- everyone else is.” 

“Tch. Doing so would suggest I am on their level. I am only here but that I am _required_ to be.” 

The British man shrugged his broad shoulders. “Suit yourself. I will be enjoying this… extravaganza.” 

The caramel-haired man swallowed the remainder of his drink as Kayneth watched him meander off. The useless prat. If only he were granted someone with more dignity than the stupid man tied to him. 

Ultramarine scanned the lot of petty Dead and their disreputable company. Only so few left, yet still they were not close to the end. His… _Detainer_ at least was adequate in his ability, and the Sponsor he brought along with him, reputable. An old friend, actually. To think he would still be obsessing over such... ridiculously trivial matters was beyond the Magus… but at least it almost guaranteed his victory. 

_Almost._

He spied his Former Servant and that... woman as they attempted the carnival games; Kayneth could not hide his scowl. Obsession was a nasty thing, and also costly. He knew that better than anyone, after that blundering fool’s obsessive codes of Chivalry and outdated honor threw away everything he had worked for.

The sooner that thing plummeted, the better.

Kayneth sighed and tipped his wine glass so the liquid swirled. “The Great El-Melloi shall direct his way to victory, not participate in some rubbish celebration like common folk,” he muttered to himself.

“Come, come! There are more games, and later, we shall all let our wishes drift!” the Magician cloaked in all white sang as he urged others to do as he suggested. His lilac hued orbs locked onto Kayneth with an obscene lip curl.

Blast it all. Kayneth needed another drink.

\--------------------------------

It was a little repulsive to enjoy the scenic evening that was meant to “celebrate” the tournament, but spending time like this with his son was something he had long since desired. Shirou was much older now than when he had embodied the aspiring hero his son remembered.

This landscape of flower petals and water spotlighted by the setting sun's bright shine reminded the Magus Slayer of their leisurely walk, a long time ago. 

It had been evening then, and little orbs of green had blinked in and out as they bobbed past the father and son dressed in kimonos. To continue the Japanese custom, they decided to wear matching kimonos to this... festival.

Though this may be a trick of the eye- thanks to the magical wonders of that Merlin character and his accompanying crew of Heroic and Divine Spirit misfits- it was undoubtedly adequate.

“I like this best,” the orange top stated as he dropped another piece of bread into the water. It only floated a few centimeters away until a fish snapped at it. “It’s when you are how I remember.” 

Lifeless onyx eyes drifted from the boy to the ripples in the water as the boat drifted towards the shore. Shirou knew the light in him had died out a long time ago, and never really understood why. Kiritsugu was a broken man when he found Shirou laying in the rubble at the end of the fourth Holy Grail war. 

“You were not as... unmerciful,” Shirou continued, dragging his index finger in the cool liquid under the canoe. “I want to win, and save you, but not like this.” 

Kiritsugu fished his pack of cigarettes from his wide sleeve, and lit one’s tail end. “I know my methods are unorthodox, but it is all I know. We’ve discussed this.”

Quiet spread between them, until music carried in the light riff of air. The Japanese man recognized that look. It was the same face that Iri wore whenever she was at a loss at how to respond. Worry, sadness, and understanding all twined together across the teenage features of the boy.

“What… happened to you, old man?” Shirou observed a flower petal, from the bushes that swayed across the lake blow into the water. “You hardened. More so than before.”

Kiritsugu sighed as he exhaled a long breath of smoke. “Shirou, I am who you remember,” he started, as his gaze casually meandered over the growing crowd of their competition that filled the plains of grass and trees. “I wished to atone for my gruesome deeds in life, by taking care of you… the very result of my mistakes.” Tear-stained eyes carried over to the boy. “I will do what I have to here, to make sure that doesn’t happen again.” 

Shirou understood his father’s pain better than any other. He fell victim to and witnessed the horrors of the very war that broke and cursed the man before him. Now there was a strange threat that festered in this tournament; it wanted nothing more than to bring even more chaos into the world. If only there were a better way of handling things, instead of the issues that arose and the drastic tactics that ensued because of it.

But the teen wanted to be a hero of justice. He was able to save Sakura: why not his father, and the Underworld, too?

So as they coasted along the glimmering blue beneath them, Shirou shifted across the boat and embraced the man he had envied for years, and promised to become a Hero of Justice for him.

It was a promise that he knew he would keep. 

\------------------------------

Alcohol. The Irishman did not quite think he would miss the hardy beverage as much as he had had. The burning sensation down his throat, coupled with glorious evening’s heavens was marvelous. The music of course was somewhat overbearing, and the Gods were frustratingly invoking the competitors to participate in little "carnival games" (as they called it), but it was peaceful.

As he leaned back on the ebony wood, Diarmuid tipped his cup for his final swig of ale, as the Lady imbibed yet another "hole-in-one" or something similar. The Knight chuckled at the envious glares of her peers and returned the cup to a passing Observer who was collecting and distributing fresh drinks.

The thought of having another ale crossed his mind, but he passed. He would rather not overindulge like some of these other sorry lugs. Especially when the Lady proclaimed she was not a drinker, and was flailing a small stuffed animal prize she had won at him.

"I'm actually having more fun than I thought I would- kill me, Diarmuid!" Haley spouted, while mirroring her friend's posture against the long fence.

"I too have been rather enjoying this... 'party'." Diarmuid mused, as the melodies ramped up a notch, and a few lingering contestants began moving to the chorus. 

The Irish Knight studied the way people grooved, and configured that with the knowledge given to him from the Grail. In his era, dance was not established. Music was not common either, aside from the casual change in voice a person may have had. So it was fascinating to see the way people mingled together. Might they... have a go at it?

"I wish I knew how to dance," Haley blurted, as if responding to his silent inquiry.

"You do not? Isn't it a popular thing in your era?"

"Yeah, but... I never had the luxury... It was either training, running, or keeping low. No time for dance lessons." The woman's shoulders raised and fell dismissively, but her transfixed gaze told the admiring Knight that she was sullen.

Diarmuid was no dancer by any standard, and the only knowledge he had of fluid movement was whatever he had learned from the Grail and watching those before him alone.. but why not? He dipped over his arm.

"My Lady, will you have this dance with me?"

Flustered azure eyes widened as her Knight proposed… to dance? "Wha—wha— I... I just said I don’t know how to dance, though."

"I... am afraid I do not know much of it, either, but—" he delicately took her hand in his to place a fragile kiss to her knuckles as he continued, "Was it not you who said to enjoy the moments as they come, Lady Haley? Let us try."

A light, silly laugh freed Haley of her reservations. The subtle flutter of his lips as they swept across her quivering hands encouraged her. Their conversation after the first round was so long ago… yet he still remembered his promise to try for her. Even used her advice against her in the most charming way, how fitting and... _lovely_ it was of him. 

"Oh… Diarmuid... we will look so silly but..." Haley's heart was racing against the emotions in her chest. Her face was beet red, and the blissful line across her features stretched like a rubber band.

"I... I would love to."  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here in lies.... THE FLUFF. The next couple of chapters will be very light hearted compared to the dramatic overtone of the story. Then, well, I hope you appreciate it, cuz uhhh.. lets just say the calm before the storm is work here... hehehe 
> 
> Here is a drawing of a certain scene in this chapter to give a better visual of how darling these two are in this chapter. And off, I know I did his thumb on the wrong side, sue me. :P I hope you enjoyed the art and the lighter scenes! See you next week!
> 
>   
> 


	35. Time together

Was it possible for eyes to glitter? Because the shine in Diarmuid's honey orbs had her melting as she placed her small hand into his larger one. The confidence radiating off of him was so alluring and inviting that Haley felt it was easy to go along with whatever he suggested. It was silly but wonderful.

Had the telekinetic ever felt so enamored by a single person?

As the music switched to a relatively medium pop beat, Haley blew out a reassuring breath. Her lean self turned to face her Knight, who gave her an encouraging wink to accompany his gorgeous smile.

"I feel this requires some agile movement," Diarmuid coaxed the Lady with a bit of oomph in his tone, to be heard above the music. His eyes meticulously scanned the swayed arms and the jitters of circling of one another that followed suit.

Haley's heart pounded, her hand still firmly grasped in the Irishman's strong hold, as he mimicked the crowd. Diarmuid moved away from her, then spun her close, and then back away again. She giggled as he twirled her; at the corner of her eye, she saw someone complete a nimble roll in the air.

Taking some tips from the imagery around her, Haley nabbed the Knight so they were now shoulder-to-shoulder. "I think we are supposed to copy them!" she said through laughs, and crossed her arms a couple of times over her chest with a little bump to her step.

It was magnificent how quickly her Knight caught on, and they both turned to the rhythm with a matching clap into the group. Haley decided to be a bit flirtatious—and used the beat to add a hip jerk into Diarmuid's side. The playful look he shot her had her internally squealing with delight.

As she faced the handsome man, they both bobbed to the side, and nearly dropped into a bow to each other. They then broke apart to move to the beat, before they reunited—each with a hand on the other's torso—at the corner of their navels.

Following the others' flawless choreography that changed with the new melody, Haley bumped to the music with her back to Diarmuid, and raised her arm; to which he firmly—but gently—gripped her wrist and she felt him swaying to the music behind her. It was inexplicable how the melody instinctively guided her hips and limb movement.

"Hey, I know this! It's...uh... it's... salsa!" Haley exclaimed, as the melody switched and Diarmuid twirled her to face him.

Diarmuid searched his knowledge for the term and came up empty. He knew of dance, and the movement inclined, but the particular styles were drawing blanks besides a few Irish and Japanese moves. The only thing that came to mind when thinking of salsa was… "Is that not a dip?" he breathed, as her delicate hands gripped his waist.

Haley bit back her laughter and encouraged him to mimic her shifting hips by swaying his. "I mean yeah, but it’s a Spanish thing! I've seen it a couple of times!"

The chords picked up. Diarmuid could have regretted the choice to join the dancing when it required such fancy footwork, and the odd ululation he was not familiar with nor gracious at. He glimpsed the other men, and realized this was more harmonious and tactile than the other dances.

Still, the Knight wanted his Lady to enjoy herself, and she seemed more adequate in this…  _ style  _ than others they'd experienced, so try he would. Despite how… handsy he necessarily had to be.

Thus, in correspondence with the required mobility, her small left hand found itself swimming in his, and her right was brought to his brawny shoulders. Back Haley stepped before she was pulled forward, to be twirled like the princess he believed her to be; bringing her backside to his chest as together they dipped backwards.

Her body was pressed perfectly to his, and they both separated to the music with only one of their hands locked as they spread apart. He did his best to spin back to her in the space they closed, and leveled his hand on her lower back to support the dip she performed.

Each twirl they attempted, and the leg movements that failed to meet their correct rhythm, brought about the most natural laugh Diarmuid had ever heard from the Lady. It was sweet, melodious, and flowed like the music with an expression of pure bliss painted on her gorgeous features.

To some, this was just a dance. To others, most likely a waste of time. To Diarmuid? It was the most precious time he had ever spent with a woman. The feeling of beatitude swept away his worries, and transported him to a place of pure content. He had never felt as at ease as he did on the battlefield, but ‘dancing’ was its own form of grace.

In a final twirl of the bright, engaging woman, he pulled her off the ground and into his hip, supporting the crease in her knees. He returned her to her feet in a deft swoop and she dipped back over his arm, to slowly be brought back up by the Irishman's clever hands. He then inclined forward, with her face mere inches from his. Their breaths tickled each other, and when his glowing amber eyes locked with her shining crystals... his heart threatened to explode from the shock waves of intimacy that electrified his veins.

It was if the Universe died out and all that it left was Diarmuid, and the beautiful woman that was Haley. Her arms wrapped around his neck for support, but her eyes never left his countenance as it swirled like the dancers. She must share the same unknown chemistry and  _ pull  _ that twanged between them. 

Diarmuid’s eyes dropped to the soft, plush lips that were parted ever so slightly, as if begging for his own to reach them. Carefully, he thumbed the bottom lip that was always nibbled by her teeth, while his other fingers rested on her warm, soft cheeks.

"My... Lady Haley.. I—I wish... to kiss you." His bold declaration buried his brevity and immediately he shot his stare to the grass at their dress shoes. "If... you share such desires and were not to be burdened by my lack of… warmth."

Cerulean eyes tracked Diarmuid's handsome—yet vulnerable—features down to his mouth and hovered there. She wanted to taste what his lips felt like against her own. Her stomach twisted into knots, and her pulse spiked with a delightful burn.

Haley drew her hands down the collar of his shirt to cup those flushed cheeks into her palms, and brought back his face to look at her. This man was special, and the circumstances of his form wouldn't sway her emergent attachment...

Diarmuid deserved to know that she reciprocated (even if she were still a little unsure what this all meant), and that no matter the worries that filled his Spirit, she would be there to reconcile it. " **_I_ ** will be your warmth."

Her adulation tossed away any doubt and managed to uncover the flare Diarmuid thought had left long ago. Their growing connection had him drawing her face to his as he planted his mouth across the woman's lips: this woman who supported him, who stuck by him, and who aspired for nothing else but his safety.

Just as she stated, her lips were warm and welcoming, as was her aroma of sweet vanilla. His heart thundered in his ears and for the first time, Diarmuid felt integral and unflawed. A needy hand found the vacant side of the Lady's face and pulled her harder against him with an ignited fervor.

Her Knight's torrid lips were thicker than hers, but they melted into her perfectly, with just the mildest hint of alcohol. She wanted nothing more than to dive into his soul then, and discover every bit of him that hid there… to engender a return of the emotions that she believed he didn't think he deserved.

Haley had never been kissed before, and had not known what to expect when receiving one from... well, a spirit granted a physical form. But hell, this was more than just a first kiss. This was— emotions bottled and thrown under the sink as they were finally set free. Angst, longing, fear and infatuation all meshed together as their uniting bonded them.

When they broke apart, every fiber of her being urged to yank him back, and do it all over again. 

"I—I have wanted to do that for such a long time," Diarmuid whispered, as he cradled her locks to shift her against his chest.

"You... have no idea how long I didn't know how much I needed that." Haley responded, as she wrapped her arms around his toned body. His heart hammered with her own, and a new spark of joy thrummed through her veins.

Diarmuid rested his chin on her head as the music finally rang again in his ears, and he realized they were a little in the way of the party. "Come..." he started, not letting the woman from his sight. "There is much we must discuss."

Haley nodded in agreement, and the Knight guided the profusely flushed woman off the field to the trunk of a tree, slightly away from the buzz of the crowd.

Pressed against the bark, her little hand still clasped in his, Diarmuid drew the Lady down with him to the lush green lawn. To the corner of him sat a flower bush from which plucked a bright fuschia flower. He delicately gripped the delicate beauty (similar to the Lady) and slid the stem into the lines of her hair, just above her ear.

Haley answered with a pleasant giggle. The tint of pink in her cheeks matched the rosy flower and the perk in her spirits made the Irishman’s heart leap. He was transfixed with the idea of pressing another kiss, but patiently waited for the opportunity to do so another time, as they intended to discuss these...  _ affections  _ that took over him so.

"I am not quite certain how to approach this conversation, so I will just admit that—" he swallowed, for pride and all, this was harder than he had anticipated, "For the remainder of this.. Tournament— that I would like to explore my growing fancy of you... If you are disposed to do so as well."

_ If she wanted to as well? _ Haley bit back her chuckle, as she did not want to embarrass him in any way. He was spilling his feelings for her.  _ Who knew? _ Now all of those awkward pauses, hands lingering together, heads touching— it all made so much sense. She felt the same way—had to have, as she had never felt her heart flutter like it did around this man.

The telekinetic had never wanted someone's company so strongly, nor expended herself this proudly for someone, either. It was no longer fit to reason her actions were because she never wanted to go back on a promise: it was this pure, undeniable connection she felt to this man that drove her resolve...

That had broken the internal barriers that were thrown up long ago.

"I'd like that," her voice carried in the light breeze. Diarmuid's single strand of hair that swayed in the air was swept back by her kneading of his forehead. "I never felt this way before, though... So I’m not really sure what I'm supposed to do."

Deft fingers weaved through soft tresses while her dainty forehead was brought forward so Diarmuid could rest his lips against it. "Nothing... just continue to be your wonderful self."

Haley felt as though she could melt into the man's gentle touch, and caress him for the rest of the evening, caring nothing of who saw nor wondered. "Okay—with kisses and hugs, too?"

Diarmuid tipped up her chin. "With plenty." Making true of his word, he parted her mouth just enough to wedge his fuller lips in between her own, when a thought crossed his mind. He only retracted after lingering against her warmth and sweetness for a few seconds longer, "I—forgive me—for suggesting such a thing, but—"

Haley noticed her Knight's copper gems shift with doubt and worry, as he brushed his thumb across his mole, effectively paralyzing her stammering heart. "Does it… has it...?"

Her chestnut locks shook aggressively. "Of course not!" Dainty hands made their way to grip high cheekbones. "Everything that's pulled me closer has just been you. Not some stupid magic, or curse: it’s just been your beautiful spirit."

"And... that does not quite bother you, that I... that I am but a spirit?"

Her gut wrenched at Diarmuid's vulnerability over such things. The cursed spot was of course understandable, as it had taken away any true chance for love for this man, should any woman be entranced by the magic. But the feelings of attachment and infatuation that looked beyond the spell-craft persisting on his face would not be stalled by his lack of life.

"No," she said firmly, as she traced the corners of his countenance down to the crack of his chest that escaped from the confinements of his button-up shirt. "You're still you and you feel, passed on or not. The only thing that bothers me is that…" she shook her head, and slipped her hand under his collar to palm the scar over his heart.

The scar from his spear, and the cause of their meeting in the Underworld.

“...that you are here."

Diarmuid opened and closed his mouth, words not properly forming on his tongue. He rested his forehead to hers, just as he had the day she had opened her heart to him and he had proclaimed his loyalty to her, despite the past she feared he would shun her for.

Haley leaned upward, closing their miniscule gap to lock her lips with his again, never foregoing the thought to do so ever again. It felt so right, and she would stay like this forever if not for the man who cleared his throat beside them.

"Yo," the fellow Irishman started, palm raised with the cheekiest grin Haley had ever had the distaste of witnessing.

"Hi," the telekinetic groaned, as she stood with Diarmuid in tow.

"Cu Chulainn," Diarmuid started, bowing forward. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence?"

Dressed in this tight white t-shirt that outlined the stockiness of the royal blue rag-tailed Legend, Cu Chulainn jammed his hands into the pockets of his tight black dress pants. "Save the formalities, but I got somethin’ for the little lady."

Haley's eyebrows rose. "What— why?"

Pulled from Cu's pocket and then jammed in the Lady's hand was a note attached to a small key that resembled the two remaining ones she had locked away in the drawer of the nightstand.

"Twas a request heavily debated on—which, by the way," Cu leaned in much too close for comfort as the telekinetic shrank into her shoulders, "We have been doin' a lot lately, thanks to your...  _ antics _ ."

The snaggle tooth that inched out from the handsome Irishman's features made Haley's eyebrows scrunch together.  _ Was the Demi-God actually part beast? Scary. _

"Er, sorry?" Haley squeaked, as Diarmuid's hand snaked around her waist and she was tugged gently into his side.

"My Lady has a good heart, I am sure you understand." Her Knight spoke softly, but the glare in his eyes comforted her.

_So_ **_protective_** — she wanted to squirm with joy.

"Tch, saps. Anyway," Cu indolently leaned back, "You’re Irish, too, right?"

Diarmuid exchanged a perplexed look with his Lady. He was, but why did that matter? "Indeed."

"Then how's about a challenge? Irishman to Irishman." The lip curl on the spearman's face was nothing but mischievous.

\----------------------------------

“Alright, lover boy: Whoever inhales more of this fine ale is the winner. I’ll throw in some random advantage against me if we fight next, or some shit.” Wedged in between Cu’s hands was a large pitcher—almost half the size of the man—that he slammed into the weeds.

Diarmuid blinked.  _ Where the hell did Cu Chulainn find that?  _ And he wondered excitedly when they should start?! Only... _ Waitl...  _ He glanced at his Lady whose wide eyes gawked at the container of liquor.  _ Would she be offended if I indulged?  _

Haley breathed outwardly through her nose, then chuckled. She patted her puppy-dog-eyed Knight on the back. “Imma go sit back under the tree.” As she trailed her tongue over her lower lip, Haley pushed up on her toes and pecked the joyous man’s cheek. “Have fun.”

Cu pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jeez, save that for the bedroom! It’s time for drinks!” 

Diarmuid laughed inwardly, and crossed his legs in the field of grass. Joined by the hooting and hollering of Achilles, he poured their first full charcoal cups full to the brim after plopping a small table on the ground, which separated the two Irishman.

And thus, the raven haired Knight chugged his first cup. His next drink, he amped up the pace, eyeing the ruby eyed man who was carelessly faster in hogging his beverage than he. Both of them exchanged quips as they refused to let up.

“Ah so  _ this~ _ this is where my cauldron went!” Emerging from lavender speckles coupled with luscious pink flower petals, and cloaked in his usual white attire, Merlin slapped the back of the Irishman’s spiky, cerulean head. “Cu Chulainn, leave the sneaking behavior to Loki~!”

“Ack, oi oi, careful there, ya ancient coot!” Cu snapped with a hiccup, as he rubbed the antagonized spot behind his head. 

Diarmuid could not contain his snicker. “That twas not expected.”

“If ya gotta problem with it; join us! Though we got pretty far—so ya gotta drink 1-2-3-4-Fi—AHHH. ACH—illes, how many?!” 

The Greek stroked the back of his neck. “Too many. You two are nuts.” 

“Mmm! You’ve already wasted half the barrel, you drunkards! This... was for the participants, but alas, fine, I join!” Merlin sat and a cup appeared magically as his fingers wiggled. Achilles gave him a look that made the merry man laugh as he was poured multiple drinks.

Bewildered, Cu and Diarmuid locked eyes with each other, then back to the wizard, who abruptly stated he had “caught up with them.” 

Achilles’ eyebrows wrinkled together; Merlin seemed unphased. He thought it was strange until he took another gander at the cauldron and then he refused to smack his forehead in disbelief.

_ That loony magician has been magically switching the alcohol for water. _

The blond caught the amethyst colored eyes that gave him a wink and cringed.  _ Agghh. What did I get myself involved in? Yeesh. _

————————————

Well, so much for having a moment with her Knight… if any more, at all. Cu’s unscrupulous little challenge was leaving her friend ( _ boyfriend?) _ extremely wasted. Diarmuid and  _ his _ antics—he was seemingly unable to deny a challenge brought to him. Especially when it concerned liquor and competing against a Legend who was shared across his people.

Haley sighed, as hardy laughter erupted when Cu smashed a glass against the smallest white coffee table she had even seen. Diarmuid followed soon after, gulping down the beverage as though his spirit depended on it. 

Not nearly as entertained by their little drinkathon as the gathering group of contenders and Panel alike, Haley turned her attention to the little white flap of paper attached by tape to the key that was given to her earlier. She sat in the grass, legs extended as she unravelled the note:

_ ‘Haley, was it?  _

_ I want to apologize for my brother’s attack. A long time ago, before he died: Jaxon was a good man. I looked up to him, as any little sister would. But he fell down a very bad path when he became involved with some… shady people, after our parents died. He was lost, and turned to a magic that warped his spirit, and eventually killed him.  _

_ I came here to try to bring back the man that was lost, the one who sheltered me and became the only family I had in a time of anguish and loneliness. Unfortunately, the curse attached to him was too great, and _ — _ as you witnessed _ — _ had made it impossible for me to save him.  _

_Despite his thrashing, and the risks that were involved, you miraculously cured him of whatever evils he dallied with. For the first time in twelve years, I saw the same smile light up his face equivalent to when we were happy children. Something I thought I would_ **never** _see._

_ I am in no way a good person, but after seeing the miracle that you permitted us (even if it was for a few minutes) I asked the Panel to give you this letter. I also asked if they could give you any of my winnings, but figured that probably wouldn’t happen.  _

_ I came to the Underworld to take down whoever stood in my way and to revive my family. Now I leave it, realizing that all I really wanted, was to see the light in my brother’s smile once again. I know he is gone to an eternity of suffering for his choices, and I am forever to be burdened with that... but one thing is certain. _

_ I am grateful to you for granting him temporary peace.’ _

The brim of her eyelids filled and she blinked away the sudden urge to spill the tears.  _ This _ letter, this was her reason for turning to curse-healing magic. To help others who were lost and drifted off to places unseen by evils or spells that corrupted their very cores. 

Her life was a sham, filled with torture and solitude; but when she helped others and was granted this result, her purpose for living felt accomplished. That even she—someone who was hunted—could bring about the happiness she desired in someone else.

She folded the note back into a tiny little square and pocketed the golden key into her boot, since her dress lacked any storage space.  _ I’m glad she made it out okay. _

Haley gazed back at Diarmuid, who joyfully finished another cup and swayed left and right. There was a gleeful energy that surrounded him, and Merlin appeared happy to join in their little rendezvous. 

Her lips kicked up at the corners. After having witnessed firsthand his emotional turmoil over his past experiences… seeing Diarmuid being carefree and enjoying himself… that was her reason for being here. That Spirit was her own first taste of her happiness.

Getting attached to the Knight was never the goal, but in some sort of madness—it happened. And it was the best thing she could ever ask for. Because that man cared for her like no one had, and unlike she imagined anyone ever would. He had consulted her, forgiven her,  _ accepted _ her, despite her quirks. 

He had given her her very first kiss.

Haley tapped her fingers to her lips. The ghost of Diarmuid’s kiss still lingered, as her thoughts reflected upon it. She prayed to anyone, everyone—that somehow, he would be saved… because he belonged with the group that circled him. He was meant to be a Heroic Spirit, just like Achilles and Cu Chulainn, and he deserved nothing more than to join them.

———————————

“So tell me: How does a Spirit get drunk, again?” the pitched voice asked, and Diarmuid flinched at how much higher (and shriller) his Lady sounded to his hammered head. 

“I—some underworld body...magic nonsense,” he muttered, rolling his fingers through his locks to remove the residue. Apparently, Cu Chulainn had thought it would be funny to decorate his raven hair with bits of bread and other foods.

Haley couldn’t contain her giggle, as she massaged her thumbs against her temples from behind the dizzied man. “Well, at least they had something to reverse the effects. Courtesy of Merlin’s magic or something?” 

Diarmuid shrugged indifferently: all the little potion had achieved was returning him back from being a shameful drunkard… something he had said he  _ wouldn’t _ be out of respect for his Lady; but alas, it would have been too great a loss, to deny Cu Chulainn. At least she seemed entertained by his pounding headache instead of infuriated that he had left her to watch his… endeavors.

“Ah, well, come on. During your little escapade, it was announced everyone had to go to the lakefront. Can you manage?” 

The Knight nodded, and teetered as he stood, which brought about another laugh from Haley. She wondered if he would hurl right here: if that were even possible, of course. Didn’t whatever he consume just become bottled energy within him? If so—well, he was stuck feeling hungover the rest of the night, it seemed.

Joining the group of scattered souls and their counterparts, Observers passed by and handed the lot some dark paper lanterns. 

“To commemorate the souls of the dead that have gathered here, and have been lost in the battles of the Tournament! We shall light our Lanterns, to then set them afloat with any little wish you may have: to pay your respects to the fallen, or to honor a friend in the living world—whatever you desire!” Merlin stated, as bits of construction paper and marker were passed out. “This is my... little adjustment to the hauntingly beautiful festival of ‘Toro Nagashi’ in Japan.”

Haley thought deeply on what small message she would scribe into the scrappy little paper. Would it be something she geared towards Diarmuid, the former Heroic Spirit? Regrettably, she came up empty on anyone in the living to record on the sheet. The idea of this Japanese tradition was to honor the dead… and there were so many who had fallen in this tournament.

_ Like Armenia and Egan…  _ The thought of her two friends overrode any doubt of what was to be written. 

Diarmuid watched the lady scribble, engulfed in whatever conception that guided her marker. He, on the other hand, stared profoundly at the blank shard of paper, at a loss as to his own potential inscription. He had no one to mourn, no interest in the living (aside from his Lady, but he digressed), no wish he wanted granted any longer, for it only ended in his disappointment—

Or did he? He carried his glance to Lady Haley yet again. She folded her finished work, and taped it to what would become a beacon traveling the lake. 

“What are you gonna put? I have revered you, and left hope that those who were lost... could find what they’re looking for, even if it's miniscule.” Curious crystals peered over broad shoulders, and came up empty. “Not gonna write anything?” 

“I had not thought so, for my only wish is to tread the path of loyalty I was unable to hold before,” he murmured sullenly, as he shifted his utensil to carve the new wish in his heart. “I am unsure... that I can achieve that wish any longer, however...” He curled the paper and attached it to his lantern. “...I have decided on another.”

Haley wrapped her arms around the Knight’s neck, and brushed the lateral plane of her brow to his, letting it rest there for a few moments as she contemplated how best to encourage Diarmuid’s reflective thought processes. 

Whether he understood it or not, him diverging from that faulty ideal was necessary to his self-healing. Though, she forewent divulging that information, as that internal conflict required his  _ own  _ realized reflection. Thinking on it further, he proved that wish, anyhow. His loyalty to her was proof of that, no?

She erased that process from her mind, and pecked his temple. “Interesting, do tell.”

“For My Lady’s well deserved freedom,” Diarmuid spoke the sentiment softly, recounting the night they gazed upon the stars.

It  _ was  _ her sole wish, after all. His kind Lady—who knew nothing but her confinements and torment—being wickedly hunted for the powers she possessed. Her name sullied, and shamed by deception… only for her to remain gentle-spirited, and always aiming for the protection of others. 

Diarmuid wanted nothing more than for her to find her own meaning of what it was to be free; and to enjoy the life she was gifted. He truly believed the courageous, considerate woman had earned at least this much. While this little activity was rather unavailing, the saccharinity remained... along with his migraine. 

The sentiment hit its mark as Haley snuggled into him and hugged his torso tight enough to snap him in two (were she not a petite, and slender as a reed). “Stop being so chivalrous... or whatever… I’m blushing like a little schoolgirl.” 

Diarmuid snickered, his stance wavering as he recollected himself upright. “I only speak the truth, Lady Haley.” Lantern tucked under his bicep, the Knight offered his Lady the other arm, as they strolled to the lake’s edge with the remaining contestants.

“For your happiness is mine in this dark place,” he finished, turning the little nob that brightened the glow, and setting the craftwork afloat alongside hers. 

Haley’s attention wandered to the souls that occupied the lakefront. Each pair of individuals wore fancy garb, loaded with prizes as they watched their wishes drifting away in the light tide glowing under the moonlight. Some faces she recognized from earlier introductions, and others from past experiences. Like Medea, whom she never thought could be so happy, wearing a stronger blush on her rosy cheeks.

The Greek woman had a huge stuffed elf strapped to the man with her, which made Haley glance at the little prize strapped snugly against her thigh. It made her wonder how Medea would bring her winnings to the Throne. Or maybe her greatest desire was to become human again—to be with that man, if they won.

It was ironic. Yes, they were in this hellish tournament to take the other out, to meet a goal that they might not be capable of accomplishing. But on this particular night, as the warm breeze caressed them, as the stars glistened overhead and the dim light of hope embarked on a small journey across the large lake that surrounded the Arena… Haley understood one thing.

That no matter the cost, and how hard their struggles were to obtain the goals they all sought to reach: Haley would appreciate all that had transpired, more than anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its finally haaapppeennned!! The Slow burn has come to an end ahhh. 35 fuckin chapters for feelings to finally be admitted, and the kiss I've long awaited for! And the declaration of I am your warmth cuz she is.. she is his positives while he is hers. So cute!
> 
> And the dance, I watched some videos and left some imagination to the reader for what styles theyre doing a bit. 
> 
> And then cu + merlin and shenanigans. Just an overall fluff chapter haha. I enjoyed writing this, and I hope yall loved the romance that finally bloomed. It took forever to get here, but I think given the events and the pacing and the characters- it fit for it to be this long. <3
> 
> Let me know what you think and see you next week!


	36. Getting to Know You

A date. 

A formal outing between two individuals interested in learning about one another, with a view to retaining or growing a relationship. Their previous evening, as they’d enjoyed the warm, inviting atmosphere of dance, carnival games, and a Japanese Lantern Festival, fit the part. Coupling that with their romantic confessions and long awaited smooching meant that it had been… Haley’s first date.

It all felt so surreal, almost unnatural, given her luck in life. It was peculiar, too, having such strong feelings overtake her for a... person who has been deceased for centuries. Maybe it wasn’t so irregular for her fate, as time would pass, and eventually they would part. Their relationship would only last for however long their partnership did...

Unless the Gods kept their word, and her desire could be similar to Egan’s. To remain in the Underworld, undetected by the Shadows until Diarmuid met—

Chestnut locks shifted side to side, as Haley's forehead found new comfort in the cold shock of the sink’s metallic edge. Nope, she was not going to travel down that road. There were no crossroads: she would find a way to save him, regardless of whatever the Gods planned… if only that were an easy task.

Haley knew next to nothing about the Underworld, nor this random lobby outside the main gates to endless torment. Whatever her informant told her felt like tainted water: it was possible to drink it, but the effects may vary and likely would not be worthwhile. 

The unpredictability was too great, so the next best option was to go to a source found here. But whom? Egan had gotten his snippets of gossip from the chattering mouths of Observers. With the respect they’ve earned from Trista and Ozzard, would it be wise to apply to their minds for answers? 

No… Trista mentioned something about answering to Athena (during her skirmish with Diarmuid)… and the words exchanged were nothing but rumors. Maybe they learned more of the plans of Gods... for would it not be their jobs to? It would be strange to not allow your arsenal of warriors protecting the Underworld  _ not to know _ of important matters such as the outcomes of the Tournament.

Or maybe that tidbit was unimportant, as it was irrelevant to their mission of keeping things in order in Hades’s labyrinths, not the trivial matters of the world of the living. 

As she thought on it more, it was too dangerous to inquire about the outcomes of the Tournament with the Observers. Too many variables involved those gladiators… They most likely would not trust her with that information, anyway. Why would they? Respect or not, her pesky curiosity would likely add to their worry than not.

“They’d take us out right then and there, I figure,” Haley grumbled into the rag she now used to replace the sink’s bracing effect. 

There must be a way to figure out what the Gods were planning, or what could be done to guarantee an end befitting her Knight. Eyelids squeezed shut, she searched the realm of her mind for answers. Like a cartoon, the light bulb over her sizzling mind popped bright with an idea: books!

The Spirit in question had retrieved a bountiful amount of information on the Observer this way, and she could devour a full length read in about an hour's worth of her time. That left dozens of different ways to unravel answers! If anything, the knowledge provided could prove useful in better understanding their predicament.

Satisfied with that logic, Haley tossed the toiletries aside and burst from the bathroom’s confinements with newly found energy. Diarmuid’s gander at her theatrics was evident. It wasn’t until after she’d slammed the door shut behind her, and taken in the man of this new day in his black v-neck sweater that dipped below his sculpted pectorals, accompanied by loose-fitting lime green jeans, that she remembered the reasoning for her thoughts:

Dates.

After sleeping for an obscure amount of time, Haley had prepped herself to enjoy another lovely morning with her Knight. She glanced down at her attire: a denim blue button-up polka dotted polo, with a plain tank underneath, and a matching blue skirt that didn't pass her fingertips. The boots by this point were customarily the ones that Diarmuid had picked out, as the woman refused to purchase anything to replace them.

For once, Haley decided it’d be best to have her hair tied back, instead of the usual flat-down-her back look. Of course, it was a fairly simple style, as they would be settling for a picnic under the tree they’d harbored for the majority of the previous night.

Haley made a quick calculation of the hours located on the flickering screen of the watch. It read: 509 hours. That was equivalent to what, three weeks and a day, per se? Her attention snapped back to the man as he cleared his throat.

“The sunrise approaches; shall you join me on the balcony?” Diarmuid queried, as he slid the glass door to the right, and swept the curtains to the side. 

His lady strode over and fleetly entangled their fingers together, making her happiness known that they were... well, entranced by the other.  _ And no spell on my face is responsible for making such things possible.  _ Diarmuid was practically bouncing at the sappiness that elevated his heart rate.

The Irishan propped his arm under his Lady’s legs and guided her back until she was plopped onto the terrace’s banister. She swayed and death-gripped his arm and shoulder, which elicited a bemused chuckle. “Do not fret, I have you.” 

“I know, still— normal reaction,” Haley giggled, then settled herself comfortably into his side. “Don’t know why I worry, I can ease my fall with my mind anyway.” 

“That... is quite impressive. I’ve yet to see,” Diarmuid mused as he intrepidly peppered kisses up her shoulder, and settled just before the crease in her neck, as the bumps speckled her soft skin.

Gleefully shuddering from his affections, Haley ran the tips of her fingers over each warrior’s callous on the man’s palms to the little nicks under his fingers. “You will... as with everything else, I'm trying to strategically keep what I can do under my hat.” 

“From me, even? How traitorous can you be?” He joked, but the carelessness of his jest unsettled him. “Which... you are not, of course.”

“Oh shush...” Her giggle was like magic to his ears as she pinched his index finger. “I can take a jab or two, as long as it's not from a spear.” 

They chuckled in unison, though Haley half-teased, and half honestly meant her throwaway comment. She absently rubbed her belly, an invisible ache in her gut from where Achilles’ weapon had punctured her stomach. 

“Ah, well,” Diarmuid directed his gaze to the Oxford blue eyes that were focused on the striking vista of magenta's, fuchsias, maroons and a hint of marigolds painting the Arena’s sky. “Even then, you recovered marvelously. I am beginning to believe there is nearly nothing that can take you down.” 

“Me? Hah, that’s crazy... there’s plenty. It’s you who's like, made of steel. Every time you’re on the battlefield, there is this wave of confidence that takes over you, and it's like nothing can get in your way. You’re pretty incredible,” Haley retorted, as she shifted along the bar to scoot closer to her Knight. 

“You believe so? I sometimes worry that my... methods burden you, given your principles,” whispered her Knight, who rested himself against her.

“While I do admit, fighting and all that isn't me... but... it’s  _ you. _ And while I don’t think I can ever fully understand it, as long as you remain that chivalrous Knight that you are, then...” Haley rimmed her lip with the apex of her tongue, trying to place the right words at the tip of it...

“Then you shall continue to show the regard for me that you already have...” he finished for the Lady, proceeding to fully indulge her mouth with his. 

“Yeah... “ she whispered, the warmth of the sunlight breaking over the horizon warming her cheeks and her chest; it felt as though it was on fire from the heat of their passionate kiss. “And I can get to know you, too.” 

Diarmuid cocked his head. “Oh?”

Haley pecked his forehead before she gazed back at the melting pot of sunrise colors. It was only sensible to admit that the most she knew of Diarmuid was from legends, and there were still things she wished to know that the books of history wouldn’t divulge. She learned of his favorite heroic tales, and some nuggets of information about Ireland when they were trapped in the Canyon, but now she wanted things to be a bit more personal.

Of course the man obliged, and indeed seemed delighted to boast about himself. Moreover, he was just as fascinated to be told more about the Lady. Diarmuid had witnessed her sensitive characteristics, including the brave and cowardly facets. She was an enigma he had yet to solve, yet he rejoiced in the task.

Diarmuid guided his Lady off the railing (even though she didn’t need any help), the light of the sun signaling the next bit of their little arrangement: a light breakfast by the lake. He felt quite particular about her safety, having some fear of pursuers popping up their nasty heads yet again. It was unlikely in broad daylight, and when the wristwatch buzzed after their captivating evening: it seemed they were not the only ones given the chance to explore the Arena during the break.

Both assumed this was acceptable, given the amount of contestants left; Diarmuid’s keen eyesight as he glanced beyond the terrace uncovered figures moving about. Surely this little outing of theirs should result in no worrying issues.  _ Should.  _ They both had undeserved ill luck, so it would be a toss-up. 

Relinquishing concerned thoughts, they neatly folded bed sheets to place them into Diarmuid’s arms, and bagged goodies from the cafeteria. Their stroll took them down a small path to the stream that bled into the lake. Seated on top of their blanket, with the fragrance of flowers, cedars and fresh water permeating the air, Haley plopped the bags between them.

“Ah, so this is from your culture, then?” Diarmuid unpacked the impressive layered breakfast bake with a salad of mixed greens and tomato wedges. 

“Yep, I’m more familiar with my Italian roots than I am…” Haley’s eyes shifted to the lake, then back to her Irishman, “My Irish ones.” 

The torte dropped from Diarmuid’s grasp, and he bobbled the rest in an effort to keep it within his hands. “You are Irish?!?”

“Yeah, but on my mother’s side. And she died when I was little, so I never explored my Irish roots... and I kind of steered away from them since it... was sort of painful to remember.” Haley choked as she remembered the image of her mother: a faint, dazzling smile, with the longest hair she’d ever seen. The woman had ultramarine eyes that rivaled the crystal blue majesty of lapis lazuli. 

All these traits Haley had seemingly inherited from the beautiful woman, to know only the tenderness in her voice... now lost to her forever by grief and mourning. Her mother’s embrace was the last remembrance she had of tranquility, the family bond buried as deeply as her parent’s coffin. 

“That’s quite interesting... yes… in Gaelic I believe your name means, “ingenious”. How fitting.” Diarmuid stated, as he attempted to lighten the gloom that had overtaken his Lady. 

“Gaelic is the old language of Ireland, right? That much I do know. My mom would make my brother and I laugh because she would speak it so quickly, it was like a tongue twister.” 

Diarmuid’s left eyebrow twitched upward. “A tongue twister?” 

“Sentences that when spoken quickly make your words overlap, or sound like something else! Like this one—” Haley recited the simplest one she could think of, “toy boat.” It was only after the second chime, that her final words became “toy boy-t”.

“Hmm… Toy boat, toy boy— Ah, I shall try again.. Toy boat toy boy—mmm, My Lady Haley, this…” 

After a pause, their combined laughter trailed along the zephyr, adding their mirth to the aroma of Italian brunch. As she sipped her water, Haley started on another one. “Okay okay, try this one! Unique New York, unique New York, Unneeknewark, AH! Shoot!” 

Diarmuid followed suit; he managed to get the phrase out four times before his words stumbled, and his head shook. Why was this so hilariously difficult? Simple language that strained his tongue. 

“This one is my favorite,” Haley leaned over her crossed legs, with a devilish glint in her eye. “Try saying: ‘red bulb, blue bulb! Annnd, go!” 

“Red bulb blublub...Mmph, red bolb blublo… AH!” Diarmuid laughed so hard his lungs felt like they were being stripped from his chest. “I could not come close with just one pronunciation, how terrible of me!” 

Her exuberant Knight perked this little picnic to heights higher than Haley had expected. She teased his mouth with other idioms, laughing harder and harder with each failed iteration.

Cheerfully frustrated, Diarmuid broke off bits of his torte and tossed it at the woman who tittered from his blunders. A hooting mistake, as one scheming look led to a delicious face mask of melted egg that he knew she telekinetically manipulated. Before he knew it, the woman thumbed the mess from his closed eyelids, and smeared the mess from his lips to make enough room for hers. 

“Mmph, you taste better,” Haley teased, as she nibbled the smushed, diced tomatoes from his lower lip, and nabbed a napkin to clean the rest of the mess she made of his handsome face. 

The man leaned into her palm. “You are quite the frolicsome woman, I must say,” he surmised, while he took remnants of the parchment and smeared it over her lips, then leaned forward and smooched it away. 

“Only when I’m around you,” Haley reported in a muffled tone, eyes casting down to the man’s hands settled in his lap. “It’s so surreal, finally being able to just let go and enjoy time with someone. I never really had that.” 

Diarmuid wrapped his arms around the lady, and they plummeted backwards onto the blanket, the hard ground underneath slightly irritating his back before it settled. “Tis the same for me. It has been a long time since I have freely represented myself around someone, let alone a woman.” 

Haley nestled against his chest and toyed with the fabric that hid the scars of his experiences. “Have you ever been? You know... comfortable around a woman, after Grainne?”

“Once. With a fellow Heroic Spirit. Her magic resistance is just as great as yours. Her pride as a Knight just as strong, as her heart is pure,” he reflected sorely. The King of Knights was one of his current enemy’s Servants, and from what he could tell, betrayed their chivalry. “She bore witness to my end.”

Haley turned over, and pushed that single lock of hair back with the rest of his dark hair. “I think I remember reading something about it, in the files of your Grail War. She was Kiritsugu’s Servant, right?”

“Indeed. In our final duel, it was either one of us who should have pierced the other. From what I witnessed, her Master had Kayneth’s betrothed, and found a way to coerce him to order my...”

A strange shiver rattled his bones and stopped him from speaking. An odd, blaring vision of himself invaded his psyche, screaming curses, wishing the end of— Diarmuid’s chest went tight, and only when Haley pressed her index finger to his lips, did the sensation part.

“Let’s talk about something else,” she said quietly, removing her touch from the man who combed his fingers through his raven hair as he collected himself.

It was not here that Diarmuid was meant to tackle that remaining sense of pain. The final dark remnants of what plagued his spirit wouldn’t do well if they were to emerge in public. “Like… did you know I found it really cool that you liked to read?”

Feeling a little better after the peculiar strain, the Knight dropped his outstretched arms to his sides, and directed his gaze to the clouds that lazily swirled across the barrier's sky. Books were limited things in his time, traditionally made by the monks or monastics, out of animal skins. Scribes possessed the better, well-crafted volumes, and he enjoyed them every now and then. 

“Do you like books, Lady Haley?” Diarmuid quizzed as an afterthought.

“I love books...” she replied, as she stretched so her hand could find his. “I learn so much from them, and they keep my wandering mind occupied. Books are like movies in your head!”

“I see... what other amusements do you like?”

“I can draw. In my time hiding from the bounty, and with my photographic memory—ha—I would try to recreate what I've seen on paper. Sometimes, I’d even sell the work if I thought it was good enough to get snag extra bucks.” 

“Oh? I must see some of your work.” Diarmuid was truly intrigued, he had not known she had such creative talents. 

“Sure! I have a few ideas in mind. We can get some paper and stuff after our picnic... which— oh jeez, we should probably finish eating!” Haley pushed off his torso, and placed herself across from her Knight once more to finish delving into the delicious food. 

Conversation rolled on seamlessly, and Diarmuid was entrusted with learning more of his Lady’s interesting quirks and qualities. She loved animals but was terrified of snakes, and she was rather shy when it came to topics she was unfamiliar with (understandable, given her lack of social skills). She attempted to be sassy to mask her timid persona, but felt most empowered when defending others. 

The Knight listened intently, and interrupted only to encourage more of her positive feats that she seemed to omit. Like how she was braver than she admitted, as she faced trials that would make the average person shake in their boots; or how despite the negative precedents, she remained bright and optimistic. 

“That is actually something I quite admire, Lady Haley. You are forward, and remain true. I feel it is no longer common to find such as you,” Diarmuid stated felicitously, swiping his hand beneath her bangs to bestow a feathery kiss to her forehead. “I am fortunate that you have chosen to commit to me: a simple, Forsaken Knight.” 

“You say such… nice things about me, yet to refer to yourself so poorly. Don’t do that, Diarmuid. You are worthy of so much more than you think,” Haley said matter-of-factly. “And don’t refer to yourself as, ‘Forsaken.’ I really hate that terminology...”

Diarmuid’s complacent nod would have left Haley agitated, as she really detested whenever he lowered his value—however slightly—but the benevolent way he kissed her lips, and muttered his appreciation left her furloughing the disdain for later. After all, they were enjoying a stellar morning, and there was no need to revel in melancholy, anyhow.

————————————

The Library was sanctioned off, on one of the lower floors of the gigantic, seemingly unoccupied tower. Where once the Hotel’s rooms had stretched down the corridor, only blank walls remained... as if they had never existed in the first place. 

Now that Haley thought about it, as she entered the magnificent display of shelves lined with blocks of stories and knowledge: the Hotel had seemed to shrink from the gigantic mass of architecture that it had previously been. The minimizing only left a searing throb, that lessened as her focus realigned with the reason for her personal visit to the book repository. 

The only issue she had was where to start. The wide angle of predellas in the two story room left massive amounts of tomes for the psychic to sort through. She skimmed the layers of titles, disgruntled that there were no markers for what types of books lay in the aisles, until she came across a familiar sight.

At one of the long tables lined across the walls in the back of the room, sat a man whose attention was centered on whichever book his eyes trailed across. Haley’s breath halted in her chest as she debated internally if she should approach or turn tail. As she shifted from one boot heel to the next, she finally decided to say hello.

As the woman crept toward the Observer with zero assurance, the curly-haired man lifted his attention from the book and raised his eyebrows.

“I don’t know what you think you’re going to get by accompanying me, but I assure you it’d be best you go elsewhere.” Ozzard’s flat tone only reassured Haley that while she might be unwelcome, he was still somewhat reasonable in his affairs.

“I… just want to ask you something. And then I will leave you be.”

Ozzard sunk back into his chair and stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose. Might not get an answer, though.” 

Haley nodded. “What happened to Trista? I can’t imagine that her… disregarding the panel the way she did went over too well.” 

The Observer sighed heavily—as if the question burdened him terribly—then shut his book. This might be a lengthy, unanticipated chat. “Such matters are not generally up for discussion with... Well, you.”

“Please… I have to know,” Haley urged, as the man’s thick eyebrows scrunched together. “Is she okay?”

The pensive man shot his eyes across the quiet, desolate space, then back to the iris that dilated with her concern. An exasperated sigh left his lips; it was pointless withholding the information from the girl when she looked at him like that. 

“You’ll keep quiet about this. And you definitely won’t go rambling, as you did in your match.” 

“I promise. This conversation never happened... So, please…”

Ozzard exhaled heavily. “Loki was fuming. Trista did not have the clearance to make the decision she did. So she is being chastened.” His thick index finger grazed the edges of the book, but his stare never left the woman’s trembling countenance. “They won’t disperse her spirit, but she will be out of commission for a bit.”

Haley battled between feeling relieved that the warrior was okay, or saddened by the fact she was being penalized for her actions. Who knows what exactly they were doing to her? Given it was the Norse God that had her imprisoned... it could be anything. “Shit, Ozzard... I’m... I’m so sorry. I—”

Ozzard flapped his hand, dismissing her apology. “No. It was Trista’s choice and she knew the risks. She’s one of the toughest, seasoned Observers we have here. She will be alright.”

“Are you… sure?” 

Ozzard thrummed his fingers on the wood. “If I weren’t?”

Haley opened and closed her mouth, a rebuttal absent. Those three words were clear, just as the jab was from Cu Chulainn the other night. Her actions… had definitively caused… negative effects on those around her. If only she had realized sooner…

“Listen, I can see you blaming yourself in that ugly face you’re making. Let it go. Your Forsa— your friend is safe, and Trista will make it. No harm, no foul.” Ozzard chose his next words carefully, eyeing the room as he pushed out of his seat. “Observers were lost in this tournament; let's be glad she wasn’t one of them,” he stated somewhat maliciously.

The Observer waltzed around the table, halting next to the girl. “I don’t know if you saw it, but your friend… he could have ended her. But he didn’t. There is respect going around, be glad you have it.” He said nothing more, as he left Haley alone.

Alone, to absorb the heavily implied message Ozzard related to her. The Observers were pissed; and that she figured, was  _ not...  _ a good thing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few hours early, but I digress, I wanted to show up the pretty picture I drew to go with this chapter! 
> 
> Dia and Haley learning about each other besides their tragedies, and of course, some interesting information from Ozzard. What could it all mean? Whats gonna happen? 
> 
> Share with me your ideas! And if anything, I hope you are enjoying the art and the story! Thanks as always for reading, I am so happy to share this story with whoever is following!
> 
> That being said, see you next week!  
>    
> Also, check out my Tumblr for my artwork, and if anything, the better quality of the images :D  
> tumblr.com/blog/jelliedfox


	37. Good Days and Bad Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you my lovely beta, Valancy, for helping me with writing out the clothes the characters were wearing in the beginning of this chapter. You are so lovely, and I am so happy and appreciative to have you as part of this project. <3

"The wishes of the few remaining contestants are quite the read…" The paper folded back down perfectly in Merlin's delicate grasp, before he disappeared it with a practised flick of his nimble fingers. The fine movement barely fluttered the oversized sleeves of his pristine white silk robes.

"Don't you think it's a bit invasive to read those things?" Achilles asked, leaning back against the wall, taking care not to press the back of his jet black warrior’s jumpsuit too closely against its surface. He rubbed idly at the silver eagle emblazoned on his chest as he quizzed the mercurial wizard.

"I do not. It is with pleasure I take their dreams, listen to, and appreciate them. After all, knowing their desires does in fact help understand them better."

"And what _is_ the benefit of understanding them, Merlin?" The door snapped shut behind Athena as she crossed her arms, her silver armor plates making a faint discordant screech as they slid together. 

The magician whistled. "You are harsh, Goddess. They are putting so much effort into saving themselves. Losing robs them of the time that may have been extended to them in Hell's Lobby, and yet they take the risk to save themselves from such a terrible fate. It is respectful to at least try to sympathise."

"Such things only create sentiments, which is not our place. Remember that, ancient wizard. We are not here to identify with them, only to judge, and discover what Loki is planning."

Merlin waved his hand. "I know, I know... still. It is for my own personal benefit that I read this, and listen to their wishes."

"Where are we at with finding anything out, anyway?" Cu asked, as he emerged from his spirit form, sporting his usual tights of royal blue and shoulder armor. "We are already halfway through this thing, and have been comin’ up empty."

Merlin hummed, swaying side-to-side as if there were music. "Not quite. The Norse text Athena has been studying pointed to some interesting findings. Now it is just a matter of placing the pieces together."

"When were you planning on sharing that with us? What with all of your shenanigans—you're gonna make us think you're in on it with him," Achilles stated, shaking his chartreuse locks.

Cu sucked his teeth. "Well, what are we gonna do until then?" He scratched at the neck of his form-fitting blue skinsuit as he impatiently awaited a response. 

"What we have been doing,” Athena replied smoothly, eyes shifting around the Heroic Spirits that had answered her offer for assistance in unraveling the true meaning of this tournament, and the wizard that seemed to be playing at each side of this. 

She smoothed a tiny crease in the dark purple heavy material of her tunic as she concluded, "We shall play along until the end, as the predictions foretell we should."

———————————

It was probably best not to scavenge for more ways to piss off anyone in the tournament, so Haley returned the book Ozzard left back onto the shelf, and began escorting herself out. It wasn’t until she saw yet another familiar face that it felt as if her intestines twisted into a pretzel.

Kayneth meandered into the library, casually wearing light blue and gold robes that rivaled the shine in his cerulean eyes. The golden-haired magus shot the leaving Observer a disdainful glance, then locked eyes with the similarly blue-eyed woman. Haley indented her lower lip with her top teeth; this was becoming an eventful afternoon. 

Well, it did not have to be. The number of contestants had dropped tremendously; conversely, the possibility of colliding with others was that much more likely. Knowing this, Haley gathered her inner courage and strutted forward. 

Heavy garments splayed outward as he blocked the exit. Haley halted and glared at the Englishman. “We can’t fight outside the Arena,” she said simply, but the man’s stare never shifted.

“Why do you fight so hard for that wretched beast? Certainly… your gifts would serve you better for other tasks.” 

Haley turned to face the smug bastard, pointing an accusing finger to his sharp nose. “Don’t talk like you know anything about me, or Diarmuid.” 

“Tch—I know you’re spellbound by that fiend’s atrocious mole. How unfortunate for you; given my experience, it’ll end in disaster. You should quit, leave this place,” Kayneth went on, successfully annoying the woman to new heights.

Haley gripped her hands into fists at her side. She could sense his intentions: he was trying to provoke her, while also keeping her here for something. She would not play along... however, she would give him a much needed jab. “I’ll have you know: a mage of _minimal_ skill has the ability to negate the effects of his mole, Kayneth. Now move out of the way.”

The blasted point made its mark as Kayneth hissed and dropped his arm, and the exultant woman departed. 

———————————

When his Lady returned, Diarmuid immediately understood that something was wrong. It was no longer required for the Spirit to connect to her through magic in order to register her growing angst. "What's wrong?".

Haley slugged over, plopping her rump on Diarmuid's toned thighs. He had to adjust, and slung her arm around his neck to keep her snug against the right side of his sternum. She seemed to appreciate the postural modification.

"Before I say anything, you have to swear you won't freak out, okay?".

Diarmuid nodded, not quite sure what it was she could possibly have to tell him, after only being gone a short while. Hadn’t she wanted to collect some books? Her hands were empty upon entering, so he could only assume something negative had transpired during her visit to the library. Baffled, the Knight reluctantly swore that his attitude would remain neutral.

Upon hearing her recollection of events, however, Diarmuid’s heart was wrung out like a cloth, the blood leaking out in droplets as he perceived that _he_ was the reason for Trista’s punishment. While he was glad that their draw had given them both the chance to move forward in their time in the Underworld— he was horrified to learn it had disastrously ended in her torture.

Thinking on it further, the Knight knew that the Observer was considered a Divine Spirit—a special being in terms of power and grace—so the punishments must have been severe. If the enhanced cuffs, and weaponry they empowered were any inclination of what that kind of pain might be... he was considerably worried.

Haley reacted to the downcast look of her Knight by telling him that Ozzard had confirmed it was Trista’s choice, and that she would return okay. Though it bothered her just the same, Diarmuid had to let the matter go, too. In the end, they could fret for centuries, but it would only result in further problems.

Diarmuid accepted that, but it still did not deter the nagging feeling that he was at fault. His very actions had put them into a spotlight of negative attention once more. If the judges were constantly in conversation on their choices, it was left up to their imagination as to what would happen to them next. If Loki were the God most infuriated, the punishment for doing battle outside the Arena that the God of Mischief was preparing, would feel that much more severe. 

It was difficult—the psychic knew that better than anyone else. Though both of them had to move forward, as that seemed to be the Observer’s wish. If not, the opportunity would have been stolen, along with Diarmuid’s Spirit. 

“I think the best we can do, is fight that much harder, and show them what we are made of. For Trista, for the souls lost fighting for their desires, and for preserving your Spirit.” Haley drew the man closer, and ran her fingers through his soft, raven hair. “I can’t imagine doing anything else.” 

Diarmuid swooped the woman under his arms, chuckling at how tightly she clung to him as he dropped them both comfortably onto the bed. “I cannot disagree.” 

Haley snuggled closer to the thrumming sound of Diarmuid’s heart beat. “That’s good, then... I have to tell you one more thing.” 

———————————

Haley perceived that it had been a long time since she had seen the rage-filled Diarmuid that she had come here to rescue. She clung to his tense frame, forehead pressed against his heavily rising and falling chest. It was well known that to a Knight, disrespecting their Lord or Lady was a great transgression. Only this idea was now amplified tenfold, given the history between the two. 

Haley felt terrible for this, but realized that keeping it from her Knight would only accelerate the evils of the world within him. 

As for Diarmuid, he attempted to contain his warring emotions. He was no fool; after the imagery he witnessed during his past failure to break down the final bits of the curse laying dormant, he knew that any wavering of his control would unleash… whatever the hell the thing inside him was trying to morph him into. Demon, monster, it mattered not. 

However, what really rattled his bones and infuriated his spirit was the forwardness of his former Master. That bastard was playing a dangerous game, approaching and talking to his Lady so nastily. As a Knight—it was something he could not allow. How was he to balance his truisms, while keeping his darkness from manifesting?

“Diar…” The low rasp in Haley’s voice, and her loosened grip exacerbated the Knight’s aggravated nerves. “I... don’t feel so good.”

“What...?” Diarmuid tapped his knuckles lightly against the exposed wrinkles of her forehead; the heat from her brow was like a flame to his skin. “My Lady… you are scorching.” 

“Mmm… hmm…” Haley nodded into the man who arched upward. All of a sudden, she felt drained and nauseated. She attempted to adjust her limbs, to find a better position in the arms of the man cradling her, but her muscles wouldn’t budge. 

All internal frustrations were directed far away, as Diarmuid wiped the sudden build-up of sweat from his Lady’s rosy red cheeks and eyebrows. Worry set in, as she felt like a ton of bricks in his lap. “What can I do?”

“M-medicine...? I—” Distress swamped the Knight as his Lady went limp in his hold. Medicine? He did not know what exactly to collect for her. She was fine just seconds ago, and now she was hotter than the sun, and pendulous in his arms. 

Diarmuid placidly laid the woman onto the bed and pulled the blankets from underneath her. Quickly, he retrieved a wet cloth with cool water and dabbed the dampness away. The Lady’s breathing went heavy, and hurried, as if she were attempting to catch air. Her skin had turned whiter than a ghost. 

After placing a gentle kiss on her dry, parted lips, Diarmuid slid on his shoes, retrieved the watch from the Lady’s meek wrist, and roamed the Hotel. Surely one of these shops would have herbs or other healing remedies to assist his Lady to recover her health, yes?

Fortunately, his endless searching revealed a small shop with a medical banner across the golden halls. Having little knowledge of modern medicine, he had no idea what was needed. Lady Haley definitely had a fever, but the sudden onslaught of sickness was unnatural. 

“Can I help you, sir?” 

Diarmuid observed the clerk from the counter approach him cautiously, wiping down his glasses. The question for the need of lenses for a soul was quickly turned away as the Knight leaned over his arm.

“If you would; my Lady has fallen under a sudden fever, and I am unsure what is the best way to help her. Is there something you could suggest?”

The man adjusted his long sleeves, and slid his frames back on. “Sudden fever? I could provide you with a fever reducer. Does she have any other symptoms? ”

“Yes—right after her temperature spiked, her breathing labored, and then she collapsed in my arms.” 

The clerk tilted his head, after turning to one of the aisles. After perusing the shelves, he pulled out a bottle. “Just collapsed? Wait, how sudden was this fever? Did she show any signs beforehand of getting sick?” 

Diarmuid shook his head. “No, she was her usual perky self. I am quite shocked by the sudden sickness.” 

“That doesn’t sound normal. You have the currency for medical attention, yes?” The clerk slid his hands into his trouser pockets. “If so, I can take a look, and see precisely what she needs.” 

“I would be forever grateful,” the Knight said, as he toyed with the features on the watch and held the little trinket forward to show the sums of what coin they had. “This is the total of which we have, would it be enough?”

Steel eyes spied the count on the watch, and scoffed. “Plenty. You must be one of the top tier players.” 

Diarmuid raised his shoulders in a passive shrug. “I would assume so,” he said flatly, sliding the watch back over his wrist. “Might we go? I am truly worried for my Lady’s well being.” 

Running his lanky fingers through the threads of his short dark hair, the clerk waltzed back to his counter and retrieved a small sign. He hung it on the doors, and motioned over an Observer from the back of his store (who had been keeping tabs on their conversation from afar). Once the armored man joined them, the strange group of souls traveled back to Diarmuid’s quarters.

While the Observer’s eyes finished scanning the room for any mischief, the clerk knelt beside the woman panting in the bed. The girl’s body was blistering hot, her face red as a pepper. Anyone in the room could tell that this was no ordinary fever. Honestly, the man was glad he was no longer alive, as being sick was something he no longer had to worry about. 

“Oh, not good,” the clerk breathed, as the thermometer read 104. That was dangerous. What he thought worse, after fully inspecting her, was that she was not actually sick. How was he supposed to convey that this was _magic_? 

“What is it...?” Diarmuid asked as the man stood, gripping his briefcase in his hand. 

The clerk glanced over to the Observer, then at the fellow spirit. “I am going to leave you with a powerful fever reducer, but there is nothing I can do,” he spared a look of pity to the contestant before he added calmly, “I might have to report this, though.” 

“Report what? I do not understand—my Lady is sick. Is there not something we can do...?” The Knight pressed, but kept his composure as best he could, so as not to startle the warrior in the room.

The clerk strolled to the Observer, “There… is to be no fighting outside the Arena. I am not sure what you two were doing, but the woman is sick from some sort of magic spell. I don’t have clearance to help with that.”

“Magic?” Diarmuid parroted in disbelief. That—was impossible. He and the Lady only spent the day either in the room, or outside with their picnic so how—”Fucking Kayneth.” The Knight grit his teeth, and suppressed the anger flowing through his bloodless veins. He needed to collect himself, as the cold stares from the men across from him threatened their safety.

“We took part in no such thing. My Lady only visited the Library, and was confronted by a fellow combatant; I swear to you, all she did was exchange words and come back to our establishment.” 

The Observer clicked his tongue. “Is that so?” 

“I swear to it—my word is true. We would not do anything that would threaten our safety.” Diarmuid strained to remain calm. If the Observer did not believe him, this would be their final stretch, and all for nothing. Was this Kayneth’s confounded plan? To get them eliminated? If so, it was rather a stupid one. The Observers would definitely go after whoever placed the spell, no? 

Either way, all that mattered was that his Lady was sick from some fell magic, and he had no way of helping her recover. The clerk was clearly unable to mend her illness, and certainly if he had no knowledge of it—then Diarmuid surely would not. 

This was exactly what the Irishman worried about. Leaving their confinements was a bad idea with enemies surrounding the place. Still, it was rather bold of Kayneth to do this… if only he could prove the Prestige Magus had schemed this ordeal, then maybe…

The Observer broke the space between them, eyeing the sickly woman gasping for breath and the Forsaken before him. It was a sticky situation. If any doubt were present, his immediate action should be to remove the Damned in question. Best not to take the risk, but this particular spirit was under quite the watchful eyes. 

Kneeling down at the woman’s side, the Observer hovered his hands over the woman’s belly, and traveled over her form. He would be able to detect signs of a skirmish if there was any healing magic residing, or maybe wounds or any sort of dispelled energy coming from her. If he remembered correctly, the girl did possess non-magical abilities, but this would do. 

“Hmm. No signs of anything,” he said quietly, and then turned the woman onto her side. “Ah, here.” 

After exchanging glances with the clerk who tapped his foot anxiously, Diarmuid watched apprehensively, wondering exactly what the warrior was doing. 

“A rune spell, interesting. This particular one, you just need to be in proximity, for it to be placed and work. I can’t imagine someone fighting and being able to instill this so easily,” the Observer concluded. “I can do something about this, but the effects will still linger.” 

Diarmuid heaved in relief. “And what of the person who placed this rune?”

Light brimming from his palms, the Observer rocked from side-to-side, uncrafting the magic at work while contemplating the answer. “Unless you have concrete proof, I can’t do a thing. The thing about runes is, the magical energy creating one disperses easily. So I won’t be able to trace who made it.” 

The Knight sank into the soft cushions of the sofa. “No,” Diarmuid murmured as he cupped his face in his hands.

“Larron, may I be excused if I am no longer needed? I need to return to the shop,” the clerk stated, placing the small bottle of medicine in his hand onto the top of the phone’s box on the wall. 

“You were free to go whenever,” Larron shrugged, keeping his focus on the bedridden woman, whose breathing finally returned to a regular pace. “Best to forget about this, yeah?”

Glaring at Larron, the clerk stared at the Forsaken—whose face remained buried in his palms—and then nodded. It was none of his business; he was a simple soul, only meant to sell and help with general sickness for the living, nothing more. If the Observer felt the matter didn't need discussion, then he was to return to his shop… which he was glad to do.

———————————

It took the Observer a few tries to dismantle the mage-craft behind the rune, but after a few hours, he was finally finished. The entire time, Larron swore that the Forsaken would pace a hole in the floor. A few times he overheard It chastising Itself for letting her go to the Library alone; that It didn’t learn from the first time, letting the one It protected out of It’s sight. 

What was It going on about? Something in Its life before death? Not that it mattered to him, of course. 

“Alright, the spell's been removed, and she will be fine,” Larron stated, as the fidgeting man crept to the bedside. “I have bad news, though.” 

Diarmuid deflated onto the bed like a balloon expelling air. There was not much more abhorrent news he could take. There was a target on his and the Lady’s back in far more ways than he’d like. The events coming forth were beginning to feel all too familiar, and it drained all the Knight’s energy. 

“Go on, tell me.” 

The Observer adjusted his armor, and turned his back to the participant. “There is magical residue that will take some time to dissipate. With the tournament continuing a day and a half from now, that means—”

Slowly drifting onto his side, Diarmuid tiddered his fingertips down the backside of his Lady’s arm, to the hand he clasped in his. “She wouldn’t be well, if she were to participate.” 

“ _When_ she participates,” Larron said, wagging his finger. “Keep in mind, Forsaken, if you do not show to the round regardless of circumstance—it will be considered a forfeit, and your time as a spirit ends.” The door clicked shut behind him, the room falling quiet. 

Diarmuid drew the woman's frail frame closer to his strong build. Her back was perfectly outlined to him; the long locks of hair seamlessly falling through his fingers as he unbound them from the clip. The Knight whispered an apology to the back of her shoulder, for allowing their enemies to do such a thing to her. 

The former Servant was filled with an overwhelming sense of guilt. He had disgraced himself, unable to protect a single woman once again; someone he was bound to care for as her teammate, her Knight, and her… partner. 

What a mess this all was. How was she to partake in battle in such a state? He could not allow it and yet… their battle would end there. He would be separated from her, lost to an eternal suffering they fought so honorably to avoid. No matter the choice: the results were grim.

“Mm… Diar…muid?” his Lady mumbled, as she pulled his arm over her waist. 

“Shh, my Lady, you must rest.” Diarmuid’s low-pitched tone was soothing to Haley’s ears. Even though her head was throbbing, and she felt as if she’d been pounded by a meat cleaver, his gentle voice was always comforting. 

“Okay… but when I wake... If we have time... I want...” In the middle of her choppy speech, a dizzy spell pulsed in her temples, and the woman’s consciousness wavered. “I want you to see… me draw… anything you’d like... what would that be...?”

Diarmuid’s lips kicked up at the corners and soon after he gently kissed her florid cheeks. His mind had not been settled, since the revelations that took place endlessly berated his very thoughts. However, this woman always found ways in her sweet approach towards him and their world to steer his ever-conflicted emotions to a comforting place.

Even bedridden, his Lady thought only of what they could do together next… how they could spend even a few mere moments before the competition set forth once again. Despite Diarmuid's nagging pain of failure (plagued as he was by his history, and the events earlier), he was possessed only of a yearning need to gravitate towards the woman in his arms. 

Yes, it was foolish to think he (especially not _she_ ) would remain in their furnishings instead of taking place in the next boss battle. Her dedication to him was too great, and his heart too infatuated to do anything but prolong their stay together. However selfish and dangerous that might be, he knew she’d welcome that idea rather than staying in bed, and losing his spirit forever.

So in the upcoming fight, his resolve would be to ensure her safety like no other. Now… as for her question...

“Alright... I wish for you to draw…” he paused, as his thumb drew circles on her soft, warm skin. What would he like to see? Thinking on it, and all the frustrating yet beautiful occurrences of the day… “A moment in this… tournament… that has captured your heart.”

“Oh… I... like that...” she said softly. Despite the unfortunate events, she couldn't help but be overwhelmed with happiness. To have someone who genuinely cared for her, despite how naive and childish she could be, was a treasure more valuable than seas of gold. Yeah, this drawing was going to be difficult… because her time with Diarmuid had too many moments that captured her heart.

Haley then snuggled into his embrace, contouring his arm under her chin. Having his body so close, she felt a bit of heat burning through her skin. Well, she did have a fever, last she remembered. Sensing her thoughts slipping away, she mumbled the first idea that came to mind. "Hey Diarmuid… is the AC on…?"

Diarmuid's brows furrowed, and while he thought to ask why she'd wonder such a thing, he squashed the question. She _was_ sick after all—and seemingly lost to sleep once more—so he settled on it being just her strange, delusional rambling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not so sure about this chapter. It came really late for me to finish it. I've been battling so much IRL bullshit, between work, special needs son, some internal imperfections. Just so much. I am sorry if this chapter does not read well, these events were important, though. I am a ittle frustrated with how i went about it, and feel it is lackluster but alas, hopefully you all enjoy it! My beta believes I am too harsh on my writing, probably true. lol I hope yall have stuck around, and are enjoying this story! I have been so down this week, and its been hard to find a positive in anything. 
> 
> Anyway, hope to see yall next monday! Until then, have a good week!


	38. Revelations

Time had ticked by at a pace too quick for the Irish Knight. His Lady still slept soundly as ever; seemingly snug, swathed in the soft linens of the bed. Diarmuid had checked in on her, ensuring her well-being by gently changing the rag on her forehead, provided her medicine with water, and now waited patiently for the stew to arrive at the door.

After taking a casual glance at the watch, Diarmuid monitored the time before their summons to the next round. A dejected sigh escaped his lips, as the dawn of new day approached and his Lady showed no sign of a favorable disposition. It would seem her condition would be questionable in battle.

Another complicated breath was taken, while the Knight answered the repeated knock at the door. The woman frantically handed him the tray, sputtering her words. An empty, indifferent smile formed on the Irishman's face, a facade he was familiar with portraying to the women he was uninterested in.

Thankfully, she took rejection well, only shedding a few tears before turning away to return to the kitchen. As the door snapped shut behind him, Diarmuid hoped that any soul transfixed by the worthless mole would not cause any more trouble than he already was in.

After the tray was placed gently on the nightstand at the corner of the bed, Diarmuid sat, patting his Lady's shoulder to coax her awake. Little hands rubbed at the edge of her brow, and drowsy crystal blue eyes traversed the room.

"How are you faring, Lady Haley?" Diarmuid asked, when the woman swung her uncovered legs over the bed's edge, her bare feet brushing against the carpet.

"Mmm… okay I guess." Haley took the bowl from the plate her Knight offered after his inquiry, and placed it back onto the tray he situated on her lap.

In retrospect, the psychic was exhausted. While Haley was used to sleepless nights, and overexerting herself: this had been the heaviest hit of fatigue she had ever experienced. What made this weariness problematic was that it all started a few days into her being in the Underworld, and progressively worsened as time passed. Now it felt like full-on sleep deprivation, but she had been getting more than enough of late.

Inhaling the scrumptious-smelling steam to clear her thoughts, Haley sipped the broth, the heat slightly stinging her throat; but the after-effects were wondrous. She hummed in delight, enjoying the freshness of chopped potatoes and beef chunks.

Diarmuid sat on the mattress next to his lady, a brush in hand and started combing her frizzy locks while the woman almost purred from the relaxing action. At some point, she had garbled a complaint about her hair being a mess, and not being able to shower. The Knight chuckled, and stored it in the back of his mind to satisfy her need of female pleasantries. It was not something he was unfamiliar with, anyhow. In his time with Grainne, it was almost a ritual.

Leaning onto her Knight’s shoulder, Haley closed her eyes in irritation from the throbbing in her head. She felt utterly miserable, being so weak. Her muscles felt like they were being weighed down by anchors. The heat radiating off her skin was as though she’d decided to take a swim in lava. She groaned in disassociation, when the pulsing in her temples turned to full-fledged knocking in her head.

“When is this gonna be over…” Suddenly, the ill woman no longer wanted to eat, and only wished to drift into dreamland to shut out her body’s weakness. It didn’t help that the combing her lovely Knight was doing to her hair was so relaxing. 

Setting the brush (that now had stringy brunette locks caught in its teeth) to the side of the bed, Diarmuid curled his arm around the Lady’s shoulder. “Soon.”

He placed a soft kiss to her temple, knowing full well how drained she must feel. The effects of the magic would hopefully not linger much longer, and she would be well enough again to be her usual, upbeat self. 

Even though sleep was probably a necessity, Haley avoided the idea, remembering her sickly desire. Easing herself off her Knight, she pulled the drawer of the wooden stand, and fished out the sketchbook and pencil she’d sent her precious partner to purchase. Feeling that man’s attention fixated on her, she swiveled on her toes (rather shakily) and tapped a blank page with the back of the pencil.

“I have the idea for the picture, I wanna get started on the rough draft before I forget.” 

Plopping her bum on the couch, Haley’s artistic flare sparked like her fever, and she began hastily scribbling anatomy onto the once white page. Feeling the curiosity leaking off the man across from her, she motioned Diarmuid over. “You… can watch, if you’d like.” 

For a moment, Diarmuid contemplated watching the little artist at work. On one hand, he truly was fascinated with her talents, while on the other, he wanted to be left in suspense of what her creations would look like. Drawings from his day and age were generally carved with sharp rocks on cave walls and the like, so her style would be entirely new.

Joining his Lady on the comfy couch, the Irishman’s curiosity got the best of him. He peered over her hunched shoulders, and watched in awe as the outlines of human shape slowly began to transform into recognizable people. The more her talented hands stroked the paper, the clearer the image became.

A time that captured her heart was not one Diarmuid thought it to be. After his request, he imagined what she might put on the paper. Would it have been the time they first opened up to each other, and accepted the other’s hearts? Or might it be their first kiss? Well, it was that night that she frantically revisited on the paper, erasing excess lines, darkening shades of the background, and wrinkles in the clothes.

No, what enamored his Lady’s heart was his time spent with the Heroic Spirit panel. Her craftsmanship captured the carefree, open-mouthed smile plastered on his face, drink outstretched in hand with a glimmer of blithe in his eyes. 

She even duplicated the intoxicated details of Cu’s delirious features, and the minutiae of Merlin’s hair and outfit. Each second that transpired, Diarmuid lost focus on the time; it was only when his Lady teetered, or paused to take in more air to steady herself in her sickly state, that he realized she was even ill. 

Even so, the Knight felt raptured by what exactly made the woman happy. Instead of the usual romantics that befall the regular woman’s heart; his own bliss was what captivated her so. How had he gotten so lucky, given all the ghastly bad fortune that had been bestowed upon him?

It was a thought Diarmuid once said was impossible. No woman would ever clearly think of him. Their attraction to him was physical, and a trance that he would eventually have to settle for whom best suit him. Or not, as part of the reason he had even joined the Fianna was because he felt the spot would hinder his chances at true love.

Love… now that was quite the terrifying topic. Would his feelings for the woman stretch so far?  _ Would there be time to explore the possibilities of such a thing? _ Diarmuid already knew he was smitten with the sweet lady but to go as far as—

“Uck… I can’t finish…” Haley muttered, snapping the man from the contemplation taking over his mind. “Hey... I meant to ask,” she said, closing the drawing pad and sliding it back into the drawer, “Do you know exactly… what I am so sick from…?”

Diarmuid’s throat bobbed. Right, he had not spoken of the events that happened while he retrieved some medicine and advice on how to handle her… ‘condition’. The lady was in and out of consciousness so often, he had not the time to fully indulge her about what had transpired.

“Y-Yes…” he stuttered, casting his glance to the ceiling, anywhere away from the Lady’s questioning countenance. “Though, it is your turn to not like it.”

—————————————

Runes, when was the last time Haley had encountered someone who knew how to utilize those crafty spells? The woman honestly did  _ not  _ want to recall it at all. However, she had been subjected to one, and its effects were strong enough to last for an entire day, even after an Observer dismantled it. 

Shaking off the icky feeling, she furled and unfurled her fists. Anything to distract her from where her mind was darting off to. “Do you know what kind it was?”

Diarmuid shook his head, that little strand of hair at his nose swaying as he did. “I do not. I am afraid Larron—the Observer—did not divulge those details.” 

Haley rubbed her thighs together, feeling fidgety. She needed to know. Had to. Something was bothering the hell out of her, thinking on the subject of runes. “Can… can you ask him?” she requested, gliding her open palms onto the top of her knees. 

“I can, but why? It has been removed, so what good would it do to question him further?” The Knight caught her swaying frame and steadied the Lady backwards onto the propped pillows behind her. 

“I… mmm…” Azure eyes squeezed shut. The headache was back with a vengeance, nagging her to drop the concern and sleep into the next day. “I just... have to know. Please…?”

Diarmuid slid his hand under her bangs, effectively moving them further to the side of her eyelashes, and kissed her calescent forehead, “Alright.” He could not reject her, when her voice was almost pleading with him. 

Haley leaned into his lips, and tugged at the hemline of his long t-shirt. “I’m going to go with you. No… don’t try to stop me.” With her index finger placed on his lips to squash the protest she knew was brewing, her lanky legs slid off the couch. Before they went on the search for that Larron guy, Haley needed to be in more than just one of Diarmuid’s t-shirts (that looked almost like a dress on her skinny figure). 

Finding a random pair of shorts, and stuffing her feet into her cleats, Haley turned to Diarmuid who was mimicking her in collecting appropriate footwear. He gave her a dissatisfied look, that she knew related to her tagging along. But she wanted to ask her own questions. 

If only finding the Observer was an easy task. Of course this “Larron” guy was stationed somewhere else than the medical ward; and even more dispiriting, the clerk hadn’t a clue where his next placement was. From behind Diarmuid’s back, Haley slipped him her tongue when he shooed them away, after assessing that they were not interested in any medical supplies. 

With the idea that there were only so many stores compared to rooms, the two travelled the hotel in search for this Observer. Diarmuid had touched upon the possibility Larron might be doing other work—training—or it was his off-day and he was not even in the hotel. That final idea made the telekinetic uneasy, as she desperately needed answers on the mystery illness that was draining her of energy. 

“My lady, we have journeyed the entire hotel, I think we should call it a night. You are drained, and need rest for… our battle in the morrow.” Diarmuid angled his sight so he could see the woman resting her chin on his left shoulder as she struggled to keep her eyes open.

“I know… I guess it can’t be helped...” she whispered, disappointment muffling her voice.

As they reached the elevator it pinged, the large doors sliding open. By some dumb luck, Larron perked his eyebrow, still clad in the same armor as before; it covered him from chest to toes. 

The gladiator's coffee-colored eyes narrowed impishly. “Heard you were searching for me?”

—————————————

“Hmm… there is not much I can divulge, though.” Haley itched for the information she could sense the Observer was withholding from her. The stroking of the peach fuzz of a beard he sported only agitated her impatience to new heights. “This isn't some sort of plot against who set it, is it? Because if so—”

“No, no, no. I—ugh…” Haley sputtered, as Diarmuid’s hand rested on the length of her arm in an attempt to calm the indisputably seething woman. 

She had no plan to do anything! She would not stoop to the same level of Kayneth and whomever his…

” _ Detainer” _ ... she exhaled, pinching her eyes shut.  _ Of course. _ The answer was right there in her damn watch. 

Carefully, his Lady broke away from Diarmuid's supportive back and onto the carpet of the Hotel’s halfway, and tilted his wrist towards her, expeditiously clicking through the screens for the rankings. In her peripherals, she caught the Observer looking dubious— as if he could see the wheels of knowledge spinning. Not that the man’s perception of her mattered anymore.  _ Diarmuid, help. You’re a smooth talker. _

“We are sorry to have troubled you. It is not our desire to retaliate by any means. My Lady just wanted clarification, however if it is not to be given, we shall take our leave.” Diarmuid attempted one of his signature, curatorial dips, but his lady had his wrist hostage, so he only offered a courteous smile. 

The Observer cocked an interested eyebrow. “You two sure are a strange pair.” Larron slapped the heedless man in the chest, then paused to spare a glance. “...” He retracted his hand. 

Diarmuid twitched at the sudden motion, but the abrupt stillness and enthralled disposition raised his apprehension (and eyebrows). It was as if something just spooked the man. “Is something the matter?” 

“No, it is nothing. Carry on.” Larron’s disaffected smile returned, all traces of mystification disappearing into the cheery crinkling of his eyes. 

Tilting his head, Diarmuid nodded, though completely confused; that puzzlement turned to unease, for his Lady was firmly fixed in place, locked onto his wrist and trembling like a storm. Only once did he witness this glazed stare from her—in a nightmare as a young, broken girl. 

“What has happened? What have you seen? Lady Haley…?” Her lack of response frightened him. The amount of terror intertwined in their magical bond only heightened his worry. 

“I… I need to go…” Haley suddenly blurted out, dropping Diarmuid’s hand and scurrying off to the elevator, jamming the “up” button in a flurry of finger dabs. When the doors didn’t open soon enough, the frantic woman bolted to the stairs. 

Bewildered, Diarmuid bowed to Larron out of respect before he began to trail her. The Knight was astounded by the amount of speed she packed on, and the fact it was a whopping twenty flights of steps to get to their quarters; considering her current condition—it was incredible that she’d even  _ attempted  _ to climb the staircase.

“Tch…” Chewing the inside of his cheek, Larron watched the couple dart off.  _ So that is… why they are under close observation,  _ he thought to himself. He briefly considered telling them. Or maybe they already knew?  _ Had to have, yeah?  _

Well, it wasn’t Larron’s problem, anyway.

———————————

Convincing the sick woman not to travel the towering stairs was more daunting than Diarmuid expected it to be. What in the world was the matter with his Lady? Never had she been so stubborn in wanting to be left alone, to be left to wonder how to clear her mind of—well, whatever in the hell was troubling it. 

The Knight practically had to drag her, kicking and screaming like a tantrum-throwing child. If not for the remnants of that rune irking her, he’d have been much more exasperated. 

“My Lady, just tell me what is the matter!” Correction, he indeed  _ was  _ exasperated, and this episode she was having was definitely  _ not  _ going to help the woman recover.

Haley only shook her head, the strain on her mind intensifying. Not now, not here (not while she was still processing what the fuck was going on!) would she say a thing. The frantic woman only needed a moment to be by herself. If only the grip that Diarmuid had on her arms was not so damned strong and her state of being so unwell.

Legs feeling like jello, and the dual wielding grip of her Knight holding firm, Haley fell to her knees with the man in tow. The heat beating in her cheeks only fueled hotter, threatening to melt her skin. Screw it, she would let the tears fall. Why not—she was already an emotional wreck.

“Kayneth… or whoever is with… him! They… they are…!” Diarmuid’s puzzled stare only amplified the obnoxious growing theatrics at war within her.

“They are what…?”

Haley couldn’t take that gentle ease in his tone, as he handled her like a broken little girl. Her balled up fist met the right of his chest, however weak the gesture was. “They’re… behind the familiars. The bounty… Kayneth’s detainer is working with… my father!”

When Diarmuid’s grip loosened ever so slightly by the shock of her revelation, Haley took the opportunity to break away from him and press against the reassuring feeling of the cold stairwell wall. Hugging her quivering frame, Haley bit her lip so hard she tasted iron. “Please… leave… leave me be!” 

His Lady stormed past—back to the elevator, he presumed—leaving him astonished, stranded and… aggrieved. How… had she come to that conclusion? And moreover, what in the hell was he to do about it? 

Diarmuid submerged the idea of being horrified—let that feeling sink deeper than the ocean’s depths. He needed to be steady, for his Lady was in dire need of one of them to be… composed... Even if the cursed bits of him attempted to persuade him to find Kayneth then and there and spear his soul into the deepest depths of Hell. 

That man that accompanied him was in cahoots with the fallen Magus? Impossible, was it not? Had to be, or so he wished it to be so. Attempting to think clearly—it sort of made sense. Though, what were they planning? What was the point of helping Kayneth? To get closer to the Lady, he presumed. Even so, sending the familiars after them—twice—and magically poisoning her? What would—

“Oh.” Diarmuid straightened himself out, eyeing the empty hall across from him. To get them disqualified. The sound of teeth grinding helped the Irishman contain his ire. 

_ Of course. If I and she were removed from the tournament—that man could relay my Lady’s position for other suitors to follow. Oh, this will not do. _ In no way would Diarmuid allow anyone to so much as touch his Lady with their tainted hands. Downright refused. 

While yes, Diarmuid had been a failure in the protection department before; he could not settle for less than perfection. He was the first of the Fianna, and the strongest of the Knights, a former Heroic Spirit, and that woman’s protector. With his resolve set anew, Diarmuid returned to the elevator and punched the number to his floor.

———————————

It was rather quiet and lonely in the hotel room. Upon arriving at their quarters, he found the room empty. His Lady had not returned, and when worry set in, it was quickly dispersed when her location was easily discerned from their pact. There was no sense of urgency or dire need to go to her. It seemed the Lady needed to be alone.

A frightful idea, considering that her being alone began all of this. Against the Knight’s better judgement, he knew that it was needed. 

Time ticked by on the watch, and the dark room remained cool and silent. His Lady never did return. Diarmuid had to accompany her, as now concern turned to fear. And that was never a good thing. 

So he traveled upward, knowing full well his Lady’s position never faltered. That alone left cause for worry. What if she passed out from her illness? The image of his Lady lying unconscious and sick as a dog hastened the Knight’s pace. 

However, when he swung open the rooftop’s door, and laid eyes on his Lady— his fear was replaced with pure gloom. Across from him—huddled against the far wall of the rooftop—Haley was curled into a tight ball. Her knees were clasped tightly by her hands, her face hidden behind them. Her beautiful chestnut locks spilled everywhere, as if they had not been maintained in months. 

Diarmuid never felt his heart ache so horribly—not since that wretched feeling of betrayal laid upon him in his second life. 

A cool breeze caressed the Irishman’s cheek, snapping him out of his melancholy. Clearing the path between himself and the woman he cared for so deeply (the woman whom he could not stand to see looking so…  _ broken) _ , Diarmuid knelt to her level, and brushed the tangled strands of hair over her shoulder. 

His Lady was still so hot to the touch, face damp from the tears that still flowed. “Come to our room… you must be exhausted, my Lady,” Diarmuid said quietly, not wanting to push the reason for her forlorn state. All he wanted was for her to be safe in bed—even if she ignored him for the rest of the night…

“Diarmuid… I’m… I’m so scared…” Haley managed to get out, her voice muffled through demeaning sniffles. “I swore.. I promised myself.. that I would never go back…!” 

Diarmuid embraced the woman instantly. Tightly, he cradled her against his chest and stroked her soft, knotty locks. Never had her voice sounded like  _ that. _ At one point in time, he had had this woman’s very neck in his murderous hold—he’d seen her lost in flashbacks of her horrid past—and yet, never had her voice cracked like did now.  _ Never  _ had such weakness and anguish made itself as prevalent as it was at this moment. 

“I… can’t believe I… never noticed the name… _ his _ name. Darius Adamson… a man well known for rune spells… a renowned student from the Clock Tower… under my father’s teachings…!” Haley gasped, trying hard to contain her sobs, but they just spilled like a falling glass. “Kayneth and my father… they taught at the same damn school, Diarmuid…!” 

Diarmuid only clutched her to his person harder, the revelation setting in stone. He knew of Kayneth’s dealings at the mystical, esteemed Clock Tower for the Magi. His former Master never stopped blathering on about how he was part of the greatest faction, one of the best Magus there was. 

“I was so… wrapped up in this tournament… and in protecting you... that I failed to pay any attention to his Detainer… and now… now… what..” the crying woman finally returned her Knight’s hold, engulfing herself in his earthly scent and clasp. “What do I do…? Please… I… I don’t know what to do…! I—I am so so scared...My father… he...he… could be here!” 

“Oh Lady Haley… I… “ Diarmuid knew what to say, he knew the solution to her troubles and yet… she would never go along with it. He knew this kind, forgiving,  _ loving _ woman would never so much as consider going after her perpetrators. But still, here she was, the most vulnerable he had ever seen her, the most  _ hysterical  _ he had ever seen her… because of the chance her wretched scoundrel of a father might be a spectator...

“I know of some things that could better your situation… but I know you would not consider it. Even so, I will offer them to you in hope that you would at least attempt to think on them.” 

“I know your heart is cordial, and you fear becoming the monster that your father has been—is—but you can use your gifts to further your safety, even if you may be playing into the sullied bits of your name. It matters not what others truly think, as you—and I—know of them to be false.”

Diarmuid gazed deeply into Haley's limpid blue eyes, willing her to understand what his words were not saying... that while he respected her scrupulous beliefs and keen sense of honor—if she would not consider an offensive strike at those who sought to harm her... they were likely to be doomed.

“Or… you can allow me to protect you fully. Allow me to… take matters as they come, if you do not wish to stain your hands. For you have my eternal loyalty, and I will be your Knight entirely. ” 

The energy gained from the onslaught of adrenaline made its way out, and the crash from it made its way in. Haley heeded the words of Diarmuid fully, each revelation smacking her into reality in the gentlest of ways… just like her Knight. 

Diarmuid was completely right—even the observations about herself and her stature—and Haley refused to argue any of his points. She merely tugged at his t-shirt, and cut off her pathetic sobs to look into the beautiful, sweet-as-honey orbs offering her his loyalty... to the small smile that offered her protection, and genuine solicitude.

“I... will think... on it...” Haley practically choked on the words, as Diarmuid pressed his soft lips between her brow. “But thank you… because having... the loyalty of Diarmuid ua Duibhne, is the best of both worlds.”

The Irish Knight swooped his lady into his formidable arms and was met with zero protest. Uncaring of the pretty face made blotched from the constant spilling of emotional tears, Diarmuid locked his lips on hers. Lady Haley was his, and he was hers. The way she twined her arms around his neck—pulling him closer to deepen their kiss as she ran her fingers through his raven locks—only confirmed it as such. 

Despite growing desire from each generous stroke of his Lady’s fingers in his hair, at the back of his nape, and the slide her little hand made to his collarbone, Diarmuid knew the Lady needed the comfort of the bed more. As impossible it was to separate their canoodling faces, only parting for a breath in between—a wanting stare shared between them—the Knight carried her back as she snuggled into his chest.

The soft sheets were a welcome comfort to the debilitated woman, and she was placed so gently into them by her loving Knight. Haley left her arms outstretched, beckoning him to join her. For a split second, she thought a look of uncertainty crossed those copper eyes, but the suspicion gave way to nothing as Diarmuid hovered over her to gift another one of his smooches. 

Haley found herself swimming in bliss, even as she yet suffered tiredness and pain from still being stupid, sick, and distraught over… the condemning feeling of fear, as her father’s bounty over her inched that much closer to being filled. She felt a shudder overtake her. Deep in the pits of the Underworld, a man was sent. From the very beginning, he had attempted to relinquish Haley from the tournament: and it was terrifying. 

“Diarmuid…” she began, “I… I… joined this tournament to save you… but...” She pulled the man down to her side, rolling over to slink her hand around his waist, “Now, it’s so much more than that… you mean everything to me. And while I am scared... I trust you with… protecting me… no… with  **_everything_ ** _. _ ”

“I am glad, Lady Haley. Please know, it is an honor… being revered by you.” Diarmuid’s arm curled around her, dedicated and true. 

Fear, happiness, fidelity, and a wish: all entangled in a sketchy tournament that he swore they would win. Because if they didn’t—he was not sure he could ever forgive himself. The Knight couldn't care less what rewards were offered, so long as his final moments were with his Lady. All that did matter, was If they weren’t victorious—he would be just as broken as she looked moments ago.

As not being able to spend the longest amount of time with the woman he had grown to adore… would be simply too devastating. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good bye fluff—hello angst! 
> 
> The revelations... Haley's father... is not too far behind. Her mental state, going down the drain in 3-2-AH! 1! 
> 
> This chapter, is the beginning of some of my favorite bits of the entire shift of the middle of the story. Here we freggin go! I am so excited for what is to come. Like, the story just picks up 100% from here. I am very interested in what everyone thinks so far! What do yall think is gonna happen? I left very many drops drops of breadcrumbs from chapter 1 all the way to here for the next big bits! So I am wondering if anyone picked up on any of them, hehe.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter! And are excited for what is next to come!


	39. Lucky Day

The roar of the crowd succeeded in confirming Haley was not ready for any match. Earlier, her Knight had to practically drag her out of bed. She was thankful he had helped her dress into jeans and a casual t-shirt, given how disastrously she pushed herself last night. The remnants of the rune were still dragging her senses along for the ride. It was remarkable she even remembered the gift she pocketed that she would bestow upon Diarmuid after their fight.

Now they stood in the arena, its platform of sand and desert heat extending far and wide after the terrain was chosen. Strategically, Haley had not the slightest clue why Diarmuid would select this given her state, until he mentally told her it would be best to keep everything in the open for her abilities, and it would be easier to keep a watchful eye on her.

The idea in her mind felt disastrous, until the Host leaped from his stupid throne to land across from them with a toothy grin. 

“I’ve been waitin’ for this.” Cu Chulainn chuckled, as he approached the two participants. 

Diarmuid mirrored the fellow Irishman’s cocky grin. He too, had long awaited the chance to do battle with Ireland’s Child of Light. What luck he and the Lady were gifted, as the match promised between the two of them would not include her. Yes, they were truly blessed with some small reprieve. His Lady let out a relieved breath. 

Cu Chulainn turned his attention to the woman. With great interest, he’d watched her fight and use those respectable abilities. She was in no way a confident woman, but her talents were great. The amount of work her powers put in against Achilles and the other rounds was commendable. 

“Alright—ya know my challenge’s requirements, but I ask you, woman: did ya want to participate to help lover boy fight?” 

Haley was startled by such a question, and shifted her attention upward to the Knight at her side. To be fair, she was appeased that she didn’t have to fight given her condition, but she figured that aiding Diarmuid would have mixed results. She looked to him for guidance.

Her Knight’s metallic eyes glimmered like gems, and his head shook from side-to-side. It was silly of her to think he would wish her to accompany him after everything that had recently transpired. Plus, she did say in earlier events that he would own this battle as a testament of his personal skills.

“I… have to decline… I promised Diarmuid that he would face off on you by himself… plus…” The ill woman rocked sideways in her reply, only the firm hand of her Knight steadying her in place. “I don’t feel too well. I will… just be a challenge-less burden.” Haley mimicked Diarmuid’s usual bow. “But I thank you… for giving me the choice.” 

With his palm on his hip, Cu leaned into the woman, his index finger guiding her chin to bring her face to his eye level. Not feeling well? Is that what she called this rune spell lingering on her? “Tch, I thought somethin’ was up.” 

Feeling Diarmuid’s jaundiced expression burning holes through his head for his coquettish touch, Cu dropped the woman’s profusely red face and drew a small pattern in the air. The girl before him glowed, and then the light around her gave out. “That should help ya.” 

“Huh…? What did you…?” While still having some merk in her persona, relief from the sickness that plagued her was much more prevalent. 

Cu threw the little lady a wink. “Runes are troublesome things. Alright, enough chattin’,” Cu turned his back to the pair, his demonic spear appearing in his grip. “Head to the Detainer bleachers, and watch us fight.” 

Diarmuid shook off his stupefaction. His Lady yet wore her shock as she watched the Heroic Spirit meander away from them. The Child of Light’s hospitality must have created wonder, as most of the panel’s endeavors thus far had done nothing but inspire distaste from her. “My lady, I wish for you to bear witness to my deeds. I shall bring us victory.” 

Haley blinked furiously, and turned back to her Irishman’s smiling face and gentle eyes. Returning his smile, she stood on her tippy toes and pulled Diarmuid’s face to hers in a reassuring kiss. “Good luck, my Knight.” She then looked to the Lancer in that ugly blue skinsuit. “He will kick your butt!” 

Even from afar, Haley could tell that the other Irish Legend chuckled. Knowing her presence on the sandy field would surely become an issue, she said no more. The barrier around them shimmered, leaving a small opening for her to exit; she leaped off the platform. 

Once she was safely sitting in the bleachers on her lonesome, the hooting and hollering of the spectators behind her became more apparent. Briscella announced the beginning of their fight, and surely she would also narrate it. This was the first time she would observe the battles completely as a bystander. There was no room for intervention, now that she was safely hidden on the outskirts of the barrier. 

At the corner of her eye, the Underworld’s Warriors were closely scrutinizing her person… maybe to contain her if she were to interfere. The lone woman scoffed. Haley was in enough jeopardy thanks to the horrendous events that had already taken place. 

Azure eyes focused on the Knight being granted a second spear, while Moralltach was cast aside. Seemed Cu wanted this to be a straight spear fight, to comprehensively determine who the better Spearman was. Haley held her breath. This was going to be a match she believed she would never forget.

————————————

Diarmuid leveled his two spears across his chest to block the frontal assault—the man in blue was just as mighty as the legends proclaimed. Swift as a beast, and landing blows that rattled his bones like a meteor. 

Even so, the dual-wielding spearman was holding his own. The steadfast close-range style of this opposing Lancer was deflected by Gae Buidhe, Diarmuid’s shorter golden spear. While the effects of non-healable injuries were kept tightly enclosed under the magic sealing cloth—its defensive prowess held firm against Cu’s frontal assaults. 

Still, the barrage of lethal attacks would eventually overwhelm Diarmuid—that he knew. Even as Gae Dearg found its way through the minor openings, slashing at the blazingly fast Heroic Spirit that was Cu Chulainn was no easy task. Power spread evenly to each weapon in his left and right, as the former Servant decided distance was his friend and by using the power of Cu’s own blows, allowed himself to ride the wave of energy into the dune-filled field. 

The granular substance indubitably cushioned the impact, while Gae Dearg’s length kicked up the ground to create a shield of dust. It was not even a second before Cu’s assault cleared the air when his methodically grinning features emerged.

Diarmuid expected this charge—as it was one of many by this point—he was already on his haunches as he sprung high and above the beast-like warrior. Gae Buidhe was then hurdled, air sizzling from the speed with which it was thrown. To his dismay, the golden spear missed its mark, his timing between the throw and Cu Chulainn’s advance too short. 

Weapons rang as the projectile spear was knocked to the side. Ruby eyes locked onto the fellow Irishman. Gae Bolg twirled above and around Cu’s frame, until the butt end sank into sand.

“Heh, too bad ya couldn’t outdrink me. An advantage besides the standard boost Merlin gifts ya might give you the edge on me.” 

A light scoff exited Diarmuid, as he twirled his own majestic spin with Gae Dearg before implanting it into the ground. “I need not an advantage—I _will_ be victorious.” 

Cu’s lip curled upward at the corner, as he bent at the right and lifted the smaller spear from the gravel. “Ya—keep dreamin.” Cu flung the miniscule weapon over his shoulder.

Crimson-tinted eyes never left the warrior before them—though the mind of Diarmuid made note of a visualization for the unseen future of their battle. It was quite risky, but all strategies were necessary against a man who fought so overbearingly, despite not approaching their skirmish as seriously.

Hands tightening around the cool steel of his spear, Diarmuid lunged forward. The strength he once had to balance between his ambidexterity no longer held him back from the brute force of a singly-handled weapon. 

Wind scraped past as the image of the Knight became a blur. Gae Dearg’s length hummed as it collided against Gae Bolg. Skilled clashes between similar weaponry echoed through the Arena; each strike by both men ringing the bells of their enthusiasm from each masterly clash of the spears. 

Diarmuid ensured he kept Cu stretched apart from him. The low, bat-like swings of the demonic weapon aimed for joints in Cu’s legs. Footing _was_ rather hard to maintain in the granular substance beneath them. Each jerk of Gae Dearg (backed by impetus pressure) had the laughing man in blue on his toes.

Cu was impressed; he didn’t think the man would match his speed or spear blow-for-blow. It was clear the Irish Knight was not to be easily dismissed. This Lancer was a more beautiful and adept warrior than the legends proclaimed. He smirked. What a shame, that this was where the proud, once Heroic Spirit had ended up. 

Despite all that, Cu figured it was time to boost their match to yet another level. The Spearman before him was matching him in velocity and vigor. In all the matches the Child of Light had been part of thus far, this was the most thrilling. Well, this and the fight against Medea. To be bested by that woman had been a shock. 

An overhead slash grazed the sole of Cu’s foot, knocking the pole back with Diarmuid in tow. “Heh, fool,” Cu lunged, speartip ready to pierce the exposed front of his opponent.

It was like a damn flashback of his Grail War (or the Latter’s) as the sand crumpled between them, and Diarmuid kicked up his shorter spear. Just like that wretched dual-wielding old coot, the second weapon aimed; and while the other had no pride in his skills—this prick did. 

Sparks stung the man clad in blue’s cheek, as Gae Buidhe clung against his right shoulder’s armor, and Gae Dearg grazed the parried strike that blew them both adjacent from each other into the sand. “Pleh!” 

Cu spit the dry grains from his mouth. The bastard was only striking him with those flurries of attacks to arrange their position for him to retrieve his second spear. Tacky, but he liked it. 

Diarmuid expected the events, but hoped he’d inflict a damaging blow. Ireland’s cherished hero was known for his counter moves. It would take more than just mild surprise to defeat this man. In order to hang on to the little momentum he had, Diarmuid closed their gap once more.

Shooting up like a geyser, Cu left Diarmuid striking up an explosion of sand and dust. _Did he just vault?!_

No, it was like spiritual magic—the Heroic Spirit went into spirit form then manifested behind him so quickly that Diarmuid barely had the chance to turn. Not before his spine crushed and he was left scraping the scratchy ground. 

“Tch, don’t get cocky just cause you surprised me.” Cu whirled Gae Bolg around his person in a clever spin to then point the sharp end towards the darker haired Lancer. “Your skills are sound, I’ll give you that.” 

Sand was patted off the Irishman’s orange exterior, as he rocked back onto his feet. A long, heavy sigh escaped, as Diarmuid looked outside the barrier. Unable to see his Lady through whatever magic instilled the blockade had him wondering just what she was thinking. With this battle being strictly between them—his back was going to be a problem moving forward. 

“I do not believe myself to be cocky, as you put it. I am simply here to defeat you, and must take advantage of each chance: do you not agree with this, Prince of Light?”

Cu Chulainn laughed—a cheery sound, as he placed his knuckles on his waist and leaned forward, “Hah—ah, nah, I get it. Truly. Gotta bring victory for your Lady, yeah?”

Diarmuid cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, what of it?” 

“Nothin’, nothin’,” Cu’s infamous smirk quirked his lips. “I dunno, ya got that mole and given your situation: why are you with just one chick? If I had it I’d—”

“Do not insult the relationship I have with my Lady,” the Knight interrupted, with a sharp jerk of his chin. 

“Ah, ah,” Cu threw up his hands. “Ohhh, touchy subject, eh? Sorry, sorry.” He chuckled—teasing this man was easier than he had anticipated. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for loyalty to a woman and all, you just—”

“Enough.” Irritated, the Knight readied his spears, impatient for their match to move forward. He may not be capable of seeing the outside, but he knew the Lady was watching in anticipation of his glory. 

“Hm, you get down to business, I can roll with that. Guess we are through being friendly then.” 

“Make no mistake, Cu Chulainn, I rather enjoyed how we experienced our spare time. But this is a competition that I must excel in.”

Cu nodded, understanding the former Servant’s resolve, and readied his spear. Enough drawing out their match for the fun of it, then. “I’m gonna fight you entirely seriously now, let’s see if you can hover your spears over my throat.” 

The Lancers circled each other, both in their respective crouching positions. Diarmuid kept his eyes steady on the hound of Culann, deciding to be the first to approach. Gae Dearg sliced through the air, slamming down Gae Bolg’s shaft. Gae Buidhe followed, aimed underneath the two collided weapons. 

Easily, the rag-tailed Spearman thrust all his weight forward, sliding the blood-red weapon that mirrored his own to the side and dodged the golden one’s thrust. The dual wielding aspect did not throw him off in the slightest. In fact, his very mentor mastered the parlor trick, so it was something Cu was used to. 

Furiously twirled, Gae Bolg whipped the Arena’s terrain in a frenzy. Diarmuid realized he was not the only one to use the environment to their advantage. Cu’s short bursts remained disastrously close, the pain of the Knight’s spine being pressed down by each blow. 

It was futile fighting Cu like this. Close range was his specialty, and each smash of their lances, each deflection of one jab only left room for another. Ireland’s swiftest hero merely added to the pandemonium when his feet dug into the sand, kicking up the buried rocks and pummelling Diarmuid with stone.

Eyesight skewered by the dust clouds, and plan in place, Diarmuid retreated back. Blasts echoed on the sandy platform in each spot that Cu latched onto his tail like a pouncing fox. The Knight turned to face his pursuer, batting away the relentless attacks. 

“Enough runnin’ away! Show some dignity will ya?” Cu jammed his demonic lance into the sand and hurdled over the fleeing man. 

Boots skidding in the sand, Diarmuid smirked. He threw himself back onto the cushioning surface and slid underneath the stabbing spearman. Knowing Cu’s impatience would provoke him to stop his retreat—the Knight nabbed the fellow Irishman’s ankle and dragged him down with him. 

Of course both the warriors were quick to recover, both on their feet as quickly as the puffs of dirt dispersed. But Diarmuid had a plan besides full-on assaulting the other Spirit. The systematic lunge from Cu consistently aimed at the openings Diarmuid gave him. But he ducked quickly, and Gae Bolg struck the barrier.

This was the second time the buzzing walls of energy provided great support—the shocking energy creating just enough of a diversion for Diarmuid to knock his feet into Cu’s ankles. The man in blue hunched forward, and miraculously overturned before either of the Knight’s spears could meet their mark.

That development required Diarmuid to hastily bring Gae Dearg perpendicular to Gae Bolg. In a quick flash, his eyes flickered. Seconds too slow—Cu roundhouse-kicked him back. “Aggghh!” The heat in his flesh brought tears to his eyes, as he fell taking in a mouthful of sand. 

Diarmuid grit his teeth—not here, not like this. His spears were already in the air, expecting the crashing shockwave of gae Bolg, sending ripples through his muscles. Cu’s countenance was inches from his, as he pressed his spear further down. 

The Knight had to roll, the blade of Gae Bolg splitting his jumpsuit open at the back, grazing his tormented skin from the barrier’s might. A wave of debris was kicked up; Diarmuid released his weapons to grab a handful of sand to toss into the ruby red eyes that locked on to him. 

Skin screaming, back throbbing—Diarmuid clasped Gae Dearg and Gae Buidhe in hand. He savaged the fellow spearman with all he had, each swing mightier than the next. The men glared at one other, unrelenting in their assaults, despite every fiber of Diarmuid’s sweating frame in the blasted heat attempting to persuade him otherwise. 

He could not relent: the moment his swings gave in, the match was over. Cu was too overbearing for anything else. Every moment led to this final plea for victory. 

Each man clashed against the other in full force, the Arena exploding like a bomb in all the places they leapt from. Their furious strikes were impossible to trace…only the sounds of metal clashing and sand erupting emphasized there was a battle taking place. 

Diarmuid’s shoulders hunched, his breathing labored, and with another block and swipe, Cu’s next stab released Gae Buidhe from his grip, effectively disarming him. 

All according to the Knight’s final strategy. Increasing his mana flow, Diarmuid burst into the air. Cu predictably mimicked his ascent, but the Knight effectively grabbed the dislodged weapon mid-air and struck. 

Diarmuid rode the celerity from their descent to further shove Gae Buidhe into the Heroic Spirit’s gut. The sand burst—a wave of golden particles flowed through the Arena. 

Chest heaving, a trembling Gae Dearg leveled at Cu’s heart, the Knight pressed shut his eyes. “This… is victory here… is it not?” 

Cu snickered, eyeing Gae Bolg that was just out of hand’s reach from their landing. His opponent removed himself, regaining breath. “Yeah… about that.” 

“What—” Diarmuid turned, to meet the sharp blade of Cu’s spear. 

Eyes wide, the Knight’s glance drifted downward to his belly—skewered by Gae Bolg.

“Battle continuation, buddy. Sorry.” Cu yanked his weapon from the flummoxed man, only to be rendered just as aghast as Diarmuid.

Marks of vermillion splattered, sinking into the sand. This was enough to shock even the likes of Diarmuid—as whose blood was spilled was not Cu’s but yet his own. 

Cu grabbed Diarmuid’s stiffened shoulders and wrestled his slightly bulkier build into the sand and cursed. “Feck man, this just ain't your day.”

—————————————

Haley was on her feet, breathless. Her heart had halted its beats when Diarmuid smacked against the barrier and the orange jumpsuit charred, but this—

Was much fucking worse. 

If she remembered correctly: Battle Continuation was a special Servant skill that allowed the Heroic Spirit to exist for a short period of time, even after receiving a deathly blow. In this case, Cu’s words meant that even though Diarmuid held the spear to his vitals as if he had won, Cu would still be able to fight on until her Knight was able to supply the same result. Twice.

The psychic cursed under her breath. “That fucking piece of shit… didn’t mention… Diarmuid has to level him. _Twice.”_

Diarmuid must have been bewildered just the same, given his state. The man was worn down, clear in the way his shoulders slouched, and the handle he had on his weapons… in the way he stepped aside, as if relieved the fight was over. 

Cu was formidable in the way he bore down on his opponents, but she felt this was dirty, even for him. Straightforward spear fight, her ass. 

Fists clenched at her sides shook, then turned to intense tremors when Cu’s spear struck Diarmuid’s blistered abdomen. The screens all blinked out at once, leaving everyone in the crowd speechless. 

A pin drop could be heard in the silence of the Dome, as everyone watched the barrier go from transparent to as white as a sheet of paper. Haley’s mouth dropped, as with her enhanced vision—she saw what the panel attempted to block out. And thus stunned her into stillness. 

Diarmuid was bleeding.

“How in the…?” Haley stammered on the words, the situation incomprehensible. 

The bodies of the Underworld don’t bleed.

Never—despite the many wounds he sufficed—had Diarmuid shed blood.

 _Come heal this wound, NOW._ Cu’s voice blared in her thoughts, the barrier splitting open for her to slip through. 

Haley sprinted into the Arena, climbing over the platform. A sizzling zip was heard behind her, presumably the enclosure sealing her in. The two warriors in sight, she dragged through the sand to meet them. 

Still implanted in the dirt—Cu’s foot hiding the slash—Haley collapsed onto her knees and readied to heal.

“Only heal the gash from Gae Bolg, nothing else, woman,” Cu practically hissed. 

Haley solemnly nodded, the line in her Knight’s belly immediately sealing shut from her magic. Eyeing the thick crimson settling into Diarmuid’s suit, Haley pulled the substance from his clothes and flicked it away with her telekinetic powers. 

There was no longer any trace of the events that had just transpired. Diarmuid arched upward, keeping his face firm, but unreadable. Blood. Impossible, and yet…

“Ya lost, get the hell outta here. The special Healers won’t take care of the burns, either. You’ll wait for the punishment game, unless we say otherwise, got it?” Cu spat, his scarlet orbs glaring daggers at the two lovebirds below him. 

Diarmuid stood, merely offering the Legend an affirming nod. Blank eyes transitioned to his Lady, who palmed his bicep. He flinched from her touch, and stepped away, coming to grips with the situation. He was not… to get close to her. 

The look on Haley’s face was as if he had deeply wounded the woman, but he refused to meet her glossy crystal eyes. Reluctantly, he distanced himself from her—mentally and physically—as they reached the crappy mattresses that served as medical beds. 

“Diarmuid, what is going on?” Haley asked, completely perplexed. Her hand reached out to hold his, but he quickly pulled it away. “Why…?” 

“My Lady… if they do not end us where we stand first,” Diarmuid started, voice hoarse. He knew, long before they got close, to keep himself from her… from the yearning. However, his heart was swayed by her persuasive innocence, and now… “We… can no longer share affections. I am sorry.” 

“What—I—why? I—I don’t understand!” No, Haley wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ allow this without an explanation. First her father, now this?! 

Diarmuid turned, his gaze finally falling upon the woman’s distraught one. This was beating him down just as badly as it was her. He swore on his Spirit, that he would be her Knight. No matter his connection with the woman, his duties to her came first.

In the realization of what exactly that meant—even if he was removing himself from her—he would do so. No matter the strain on his heart, and how broken this shall leave her. 

For this devastating development was too great, even for their infatuation.

“My Lady, I am _stealing_ your life force.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thissss chappppterrr. Omg. Spear fight?? How do you make a spear fight interesting?! I tried, okay! Haha
> 
> Also, the REVEAL IS FINALLY HERE. Did anyone pick up on all the little hints I left for this?! Cu's right- it ain't dias day. Or week. Well... 
> 
> I love this entire climax?! Is that what the middle bridge of the story is?! (Lol!) This fight being the start of it all, and all of the twists and turns coming your way ahhhhh! 
> 
> I hope yall are enjoying this fic! I love hearing your feedback, and i am curious to see what you think! Comments bring me such joy <3
> 
> Anyway, See you next week! Cuz... mmpphhh, there is still so much more to come =P


	40. I Hate this Place

Haley’s lips parted, not completely understanding... but all the while,  _ understanding _ . It all started to come together like pieces of a puzzle. How could she have missed the clues? The air in his lungs after the second round, her steady crash of exhaustion, how his skin went from blistering cold to tepid and now—the telekinetic could not resist her urge. 

Dainty hands topped the warrior’s own, warmth radiating under her fingertips. “Impossible,” she breathed.

The psychic’s mind went over every encounter; every question mark she’d written off with some random explanation. The sweat and heat that swelled from his body on the Canyon in the night. How her fever felt as if it rose from their cuddling. 

What exactly was happening to him? Was he returning to life by stealing her own? 

Her lip quivered underneath her top teeth, and Diarmuid retracted his hands. It stung, sharp like a wasp. This man—whom Haley shared deep feelings for—returned to the distant warrior from their initial meeting. 

It crossed her mind to allow this behavior. The Knight was correct; if they furthered their relationship, threw caution out the window, it could very well end in her  _ death _ . What would become of Diarmuid then? 

Azure eyes remained sullen, fixated on the back of his torn orange jumpsuit. His skin peeked through, showing signs of burns from his collision with the barrier. Slight bits of her weighted-down magic twinged to heal it; but she knew that would only burden them further. 

“Diarmuid…” the words were barely audible. What could Haley say? If she never incited that nefarious desire to exchange their light touches that augmented into embraces and eventually—romance—they would not be in this situation.

Her Knight could have finished his match with Cu Chulainn—and brought them the victory he most likely planned. Now their fate was entirely undecided, and without any action of their own to guide or grant them reassurance. 

And it was all her fault.

A painful sigh escaped the Lancer, and he guided his Lady to sit down with him on the hard mattress, “I can feel your energy—it is all over the place. Be calm, Lady Haley. Fear not, as we shall—no—we  _ will _ figure this matter out.”

Haley pitifully dragged her eyes to align with Diarmuid’s, refusing to shed a tear. She had to be strong as he encouraged, or else… well, everything was over for them.  _ If it wasn’t already… _ Bad idea as it was, the saddened woman still brought her lips to his. 

Diarmuid rested his palm on the left side of her cheek, and returned her affections, before he pulled away. “May that be the last time we share such pleasantries… until we find an answer to our dilemma.” 

Figuring the answer to that would prove to be difficult—that the Knight knew. This was not the effects that the “Craving of the Dead” naturally bestowed upon its victims. No, it was not possession, but rather something else entirely; but it remained the cause, nevertheless. Indeed, his body was stealing her life force, restoring his form in some way. 

It seemed fate was not entirely on the Irishman’s side as he had hoped. Desire had led to slowly crippling the woman he grew so fond of… the exact opposite of his desires. He wished only to protect her from their enemies, and give them victory for this tournament. Now that idea seemed distant on the horizon. 

To what extent would Diarmuid go to keep his Lady safe? To be one of the perpetrators against her… taking her life to support his own… what rubbish that was. Responsible yet again for another painful blunder, he stared at his empty, blistered hands. Surely, this was testament to what a failure of a Knight he is. 

Haley brought her knees to her chest, huddled fixedly onto the medical bed, as more losing competitors flooded the gloomy room. She analyzed them; pitied them. They were far more wounded than Diarmuid was. The human counterparts dripped blood, their companions lacerated and bruised.

She wanted desperately to lean on Diarmuid’s shoulder, to let him know that he did well against the Irish Legend, but words failed to reach her lips. The rune spell finally lifted, but now she was overtaken with terrible remorse. Her Knight—despite his calm, stolid disposition—had this aura around him she hadn’t sensed since their earlier days.

While only say, twenty percent of the world’s evil still resided within him (twisting his insecurities and past to demonic levels) it was beginning to manifest once more. Haley wanted to reach out to him, to placate the emotions that were struggling to bear down on the curse that had taken advantage of both their broken states. Only she knew that her touch, their strengthening bond… empowered her own demise.

This… was the most overbearing hurt she had ever come across. The psychic’s father’s pursuance was nothing more but a small thorn in her side. No amounts of torture, or fear, could equate to the burning beat of her heart… as having Diarmuid in her circle was all she could have dreamed for.

Yes, that was why her chest ached. All of her wishes, every bit of the painful life she had endured, brought her to the Gates of the Underworld, Hell’s Lobby—to Diarmuid. Their meeting was the sole good fortune Haley wanted to hold on to. A companion. A person in her life who shared similar betrayal and anguish. 

And now she had to pretend nothing existed between them, in order to save them. The telekinetic immediately understood this was not easy for her Knight, either. She saw it in the twitching of his eyebrows, the jerk of his hand reaching for hers, then its retraction in the blink of an eye. 

All she hoped for—was that he wouldn’t blame himself. As he shouldn’t. This was a plague of the Underworld, and  _ her _ mistake to bear. She would relate that to him, and hopefully they could come to an agreement that will keep them both safe. 

She opened her mouth to speak her assurance—but was interrupted by an Observer infiltrating their space. 

“We are to have a word.” 

———————————

“What the  _ hell _ was that, Cu Chulainn? Were you not to  **_eliminate_ ** them?!” Loki snarled, as his nostrils flared. The impotent traitor had broken apart their agreement. The useless Heroic Spirit should have struck that Forsaken down where it stood once its blood had fallen.

To add to his fury—the wretched warrior only shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, as if he did not have a care in the world. Why,  _ why  _ did he have to sustain a neutral contract with these… nefarious heroes, to have his Tournament?! Dolos was more than enough! 

“If I remember correctly, as Dolos proclaimed: as a challenge I am  _ not  _ to strike the Underworld's inhabitant’s spirit cores, ya?” Cu sucked his teeth, then offered the angry God a cheeky smirk. “So I didn’t.” 

“Those rules don’t apply to the Damned that shed blood!” Loki’s fist slammed on the armrest of his throne chair, the bracelets on his wrist rattling as it did. “Already,  **_al-ready_ ** have we shown them dignity! First with Achilles’s battle continuation not being taken into consideration, then with Trista’s blatant disregard for  **_MY ORDERS_ ** , now this?! How much more leeway do we grant them?!” 

With Achilles absent—taking part in battle while the remaining Panel deliberated—Dolos hummed in amusement. Quite the interesting situation. Never before had he seen this. “Well, we could just kill them now—at least, the Forsaken,” Dolos said impassively, flicking at his fingernails.

Gilgamesh remained silent, crimson eyes locked on the battle in the Arena below him. That Demi-God was quite the wonder, effectively speeding across the rocky terrain with ease. How the stupid human puppet that was Shirou Emiya was managing against him with his mundane Forsaken was more entertaining than those other two.

“I too, am quite shocked at the events that have recently transpired. For once I agree with the Norse God. This transgression cannot go unnoticed. Our agreement with Hades calls for it.” Athena traced her golden necklace, and crossed one bare leg over the other as her dress swept over her foot. “So. How should we handle their disposal?” 

Merlin listened to the raging God, twiddled his thumbs, and looked to the ceiling of their little barrier. This was quite the predicament, that even he had not entirely foreseen. While yes, he knew of the increasing instability between those two—he knew better than to get involved. Altering fate was not  _ entirely _ in his rap sheet. 

Though the situation had proven to be relevant much sooner than anticipated, there was always a plan that could be put in place. One that would benefit all involved, based on what his clairvoyance told him.

“Now, now, fellow Hosts, might we come to a more… plausible solution, hmm?” the wizard proclaimed, standing in the air on his rosy pink flower petals. “I believe I have a suggestion.” 

———————————

Arms hugged around her waist to keep her persistent jitters under control, Haley gnawed at her lower lip relentlessly. The Observer left them with instructions for the punishment game. Simple, but… She looked to her Knight, whose demoralized gaze held the floor. If that was what they were supposed to do… then…

Little hands nabbed Diarmuid and dragged his raven head to her chest. This was all too much for her and him to handle alone. Together they had managed to overcome trials not normal to man, and this was no different. 

“I am sorry, my Lady… I… have failed you.” Diarmuid lamented, no longer hiding his grief over their predicaments.

Lip quivering, Haley shook her head; her locks scraped against the Knight who enveloped her on the tiny hospital bed. “Don’t… say that...you idiot…” her chin now rested on his head, and she blinked away the tears that strained her eyelids. “That’s not true.” 

“But I have… since we are to…” Diarmuid couldn’t say the words of their next endeavor. “...Your father… and our battle…” 

Haley lifted Diarmuid’s chin shakily, and kissed his forehead. “I… can figure that.. out.. I can find a way to run from him forever… but…” she pulled back, looking into those anguished orbs and thumbed his cheek with a sniffle. “But I can’t run from this… from  _ you. _ We get through this, together. Just… like we always do…”

Diarmuid cupped his Lady’s cheeks, and pulled her lips to his. There was no mistaking that it mattered not anymore if the drain on their connection held. Not with this proposition looming over them like the dark cloud of his curse and history. “Thank you, Lady Haley. You are too kind to this tragic Knight.” 

“Oh shoosh,” Haley flicked his forehead before he could return to his feet and face the obstacle that was before them. 

Diarmuid offered her his hand, which she gladly took to stand beside him. The call had come for the remaining contestants to gather at the Arena to face their punishment round. Never having taken part in this before, Haley knew not what to expect. 

What she did know, as her hand now firmly locked with Diarmuid’s—exchanging a confident look with the fierce Knight before her—was that together they would win, and together, they would fall.

————————————

The combined sound of crickets and cicadas chirped in the darkness of the Arena. The canopy of the tall trees blocked out the moon’s bright rays, but some slipped through the gaps of the leaves. The contestants were spread out in the forest’s domain, leaving Haley and Diarmuid alone. 

The watch left a grim directive, attached to the plot of the round. Resembling the six days in the Arena: one of the pairings was to protect the other with everything in their arsenal. Only it was the Detainer’s responsibility this time around, and the days were a mere four hours in length. No healing was not a surprise; Haley’s throat hitched, but she nodded to Diarmuid with resolve. She would protect him with everything she had.

At least, possibly, for as long as she was allowed… 

Haley shuffled through the long blades of grass that scratched her arms. Keeping an awareness of their surroundings, they searched for a safe place to preserve their energy. In the back of her mind, she thanked Cu Chulainn for completely releasing her from the Rune, as sustaining any sort of safety in that previous condition would have been crazily difficult. 

In all honesty—as she leaned against the trunk of a tree—there was still a bit of fuzziness in her mind, but it was insufficient in holding her down, as it had before. Casting her gaze to the bushes of leaves hiding the sky, Haley hoped this testament of her own skills wouldn’t prove her worthless.

Diarmuid clasped his hand tightly on her wrist, snapping her attention to his shaking figure. 

“S-something is…” Diarmuid’s voice cracked, worrying the telekinetic.

Looking around, there was nothing threatening along the shrubbery, or hidden in the grass she spread with her power. She did feel a slight tingling sensation in her psyche, but it wasn’t noteworthy. Cocking her head, as her Knight’s grip grew more intense—Haley looked to him for answers. 

Right hand still clenching her wrist, Diarmuid’s left was splayed across his face. He struggled to open his eyes, as something pressured his very head. His mouth failed to incite words, and a loud ringing bothered his ears.  _ What in the world….? _

A cold chill made the hairs on both Diarmuid and Haley’s skin rise.

Though a shallow breeze, it pendulated the terrain. Haley caught a glimpse above them, as the thicket of leaves spread and demonic birds emerged. Devoid of flesh, with bones crackling, and long beaks similar to that of a pterodactyl, the gargantuan monsters attacked. 

Haley swatted them away, each bird flung and torn apart by her mental capacity. The woman shielded Diarmuid, as the swarm of creatures aimed solely for him. Knowing full well if she couldn’t see them—the telekinetic would be unable to keep them away. So she kept her focus on what struck at them, as opposed to what came on an incline. 

The tree they used for shelter kept the endless stream of demons at bay, only a few breaking through her defenses and securing a scrape to her arm, and a strike into her thigh. Even so, it was nothing compared to what she had to endure. The woman didn’t grant the beasts even a flinch. 

In the end, the grass was littered with broken bones. Turning to her Knight, he seemed unaffected; the demonic beasts didn’t make their way through.

Diarmuid used his index finger and thumb to massage his forehead, the relentless ringing finally halting. It was strange. It did not feel as if he was being mentally attacked but more so:  _ read _ . Was something trying to get into his head? 

Shaking away the unsease, he was impressed by her easy handling of those wretched monsters of the Underworld. At least they were not too troubling...or so he assumed. A moment of calm could never last in the Arena. 

Greenery dented inwards, and traveling through it, moaned the restless Undead. Haley had thought she saw the last of these things in the previous round. She had no weapon to sever their restless heads. Unless…

Swallowing, Haley focused deeply on the anatomy of the… human man sluggishly traveling toward her. Slowly, she split the skin at its throat open. Still, not enough, as faint traces of blood spilled from the wound. 

_ Oh hell... That person was…  _ Haley shook off the unease, peering over her shoulder at Diarmuid still sitting with his back pressed against the tree, then her gaze returned to the Detainer that was lost in the first hour of the Arena. 

Cursing under her breath, she split the cells in the skin, and tore away at the being’s flesh. When enough of it was stripped—the neck losing its hold and the head tilted back—Haley used her hands to help sever the head entirely. The body collapsed into the turf as she rested the back of her cranium on the bark behind her. 

Lit with this new strength, she copied her previous action with much more refinement, and eventually made her way through the group of Dead heading towards her.

Performing such a strenuous form of psychic power took a bit more out of her mental strength, but proved she  _ could  _ do it. It made the woman sick to her stomach, thinking of the limitless possibilities one could undertake if they were a telekinetic. 

_ My Lady, you are getting stronger, _ Diarmuid telepathically communicated, careful to not incite further attraction to their location. 

Haley slumped against wood, halting her downward slide into a slouch.  _ Yeah, I didn’t think I could do that, though. Was worth a shot, probably a fluke that it even worked. _

_ You doubt yourself too often. Should your abilities continue to grow— you will continue to do incredible things and accomplish incredible feats.  _

_ Jeez… you flatter me.  _ A small smile formed, as she ruffled her Knight’s roughly combed-back hair into a frenzy. 

Careful not to elicit attention, Diarmuid hooked his thumb into the belt loops on Haley’s waist and dragged her down onto his lap with a wink.  _ Come here.  _

Haley giggled, as she rested her lips onto his forehead. It was dangerous being so… enamored by the hard flutter of her heartbeat, and the playfulness her Knight created even in this… slightly perilous situation. 

The woman felt the static of complicated emotions; losing Diarmuid was going to be…

When azure eyes blinked open, the woman froze, only slightly perking her face upward. Hands gripping the collar of Diarmuid’s jumpsuit, Haley tugged the man with her onto their feet. Her eyes frantically looked around the thicket of sharp grass and tall trees.

Rustling in the bunch of trees released a stampede of demonic cockroaches—all varied in size and with grotesquely clacking shells. 

_ Diarmuid, back up with me freggin slowly, and get ready to run like hell.  _ The wide-eyed woman managed to think, before glinting eyes emerged. She had already used a large amount of telekinetic energy thus far, and using it against… those things? She’d lose her mentality before she could mow down the horde.

_ Oh… that is quite displeasing.  _ Diarmuid collectively shared. 

Haley was terrified of bugs—specifically—of these damned things. 

Taking another cautious step back, Haley felt a strange tingle in her ankle. It was almost unnatural—she spared a downward glance, as her breath hitched in her throat. She swallowed her scream, feeling herself begin to tremble. 

Up her leg slithered snakes, coiling rapidly around her thin legs. Her eyes wandered to Diarmuid, whose still form was being journeyed by the multiplying serpents. A broken whimper came through her quivering lip.

“... **I** …  **_hate_ ** …  **_this_ ** …  **place** …” 

The moment she uttered those words, the entire Arena came to life amongst the night. Clicking insect beasts swarmed forward, cutting through the grass, and scurrying up the trees. Sending the now snapping reptiles that pinched and pulled at their skin flying—Haley and Diarmuid turned and ran.

Through the towering fields of grass, followed by the flow of demonic bugs at either side of them, and trailing close behind, Diarmuid cast a sideways glance to the woman who kept up with his pace. For a second, he was impressed by her speed, knowing full well she was using her enhancement magic. 

The Knight grit his teeth.  _ If only she were allowed to use such methods to enhance  _ **_me_ ** _. We could outrun these— _

“Diarmuid!” The telekinetic slapped into the man, knocking him into the dirt. “The freggin’ things can lunge!” 

Haley rolled with Diarmuid in the mud until her body was firmly on top of his. Her hand swiped, and flung the wretched creatures in every direction. She grabbed the man below her and tumbled again, grass licking at her shredded clothes. 

“Fucking damnit!” she screeched, grabbing Diarmuid’s shoulders and throwing him out of the way of the flipping roach that emerged from the spliced grass. “Ick, ick, ick!!” She jammed her eyes shut, the crunch of the insect ringing in her ears.

Like a steaming pot, Haley’s arms and chest began to sizzle. 

“Lady Haley—!” Diarmuid regained his senses and scurried to help the woman shred the tainted bits of her clothes while she snapped more of the creatures away. “Ahhh… you’re…” 

Haley saw the Knight avert his gaze. While she appreciated the gesture to look away from the charred bits of her bra—and broken skin—this was hardly the time for either of them to be diffident. Haley palmed his chest, and turned him by the shoulder, pushing forward. 

“Don’t worry about it—go, GO!” 

The skies whined in their retreat through the now open field. Above them, cracking wings, and demonic caws carried in the howls of the wind. Haley cursed under her breath, as other contestants came into view and the sky rained flapping beasts. 

The thought that there were more things for the demons to pick and choose their victims crossed Diarmuid’s mind. The maws of the beasts picked away at the contestants, while some used interesting magecraft to deflect them. 

Haley—of course—was aiding the few that were able to handle the flying beasts while also redirecting the raging cockroaches that freaked her out beyond belief. Their creepy long legs and striped underbellies laughed at her as they stood on hairy hind legs and swiped for her vitals.

Sweat dripped from her brow, and the intense beating in her head almost distracted Haley, who felt the Knight press his back to hers amidst the chaos. Haley felt his fingertips brush against hers, entwining her hand with his. 

Catching the eye of the man who smiled at her over his shoulder, Haley huffed while flinging the terrifying insects and demonic birds, “This sucks!” 

Diarmuid chuckled; this scene felt slightly familiar. The main difference was the burning red that lit the night, and the missing heretic. “Indeed.” 

“Come on,” her petite hand dragged the Knight away from the fray, taking advantage of the opening, and bee-lining their way out of that wretched flaming field and into the confines of the forest once more. 

Gasping for breath, and feeling the heat rising in her cheeks, Haley collapsed onto the ground. She tilted her wrist, eyeing the amount of time left and groaned disapprovingly. “Ohhh… two more hours…?!” She dug her fists into the soil.

Hand lightly placed on her exposed back, Diarmuid rubbed her consolingly. Knowing the limits of her capabilities, he was sure the strain was beginning to take its toll. “Lady—” 

Burned lungs finally replenished with air, Haley looked up to her Knight. His golden eyes were struck with horror and fixated on her. “What... ? What is it?” 

This round seemed to leave no room for breathers; as the skin underneath his palm began to roll unnaturally. The Irishman’s throat bobbed. “Lady Haley... do not fret—”

The woman cocked her head. Tingling in her fingers and arm brought her ascertainment to the lumps brimming under her skin. The sensation itched. Haley hysterically clawed at the welts squirming in her skin, tearing holes in her flesh. 

A horrific nightmare was brought to life. Once, as a child, Haley had found a spider’s nest that burst open. Tons of the tiny arachnids sped in different directions, successfully scarring her for life.

Diarmuid was now on his hands and knees, but his words couldn’t reach the terror-struck woman. He felt absolutely pitiful, unable to do a thing to help her: her skin was being ravaged internally, tiny grey spiders hatching from her very muscles. 

Hives continued to break apart in masses as Haley screeched. They were so small—hard for her to trace. She debated slicing off her entire arm. Anything to stop the multitude of crawling bugs eating away at her. 

Flashing light broke open the Arena, and a small torch rolled to the Knight’s knees. Diarmuid grabbed the note attached to the tool. There was a lilac seal imprinted on it. Flipping open the paper, it read:

_ Fire will incinerate the pests, but Haley must use it. You’re allowed to do what you must to calm her down. _

Practically worshiping whichever sponsor blessed him, Diarmuid grabbed his Lady’s thin wrist and shook her vigorously. “Lady Haley, calm yourself! Use this contraption to burn them out!” 

Fully in hysterics, and meticulously scraping at the countless array of balls swelling in her hide, Haley could barely comprehend her Knight’s words. She was to do what? With what now? No… the eggs.. they were still… hatching. 

“Nhh… won’t stop… they won’t…” The woman felt faint. Were the creatures draining her of mana, too? Oh gods, they  _ were.  _

She would do it. She had to. The only way to remove the bugs from her insides was to—

A hard clap echoed in the woods. Diarmuid was above striking a woman in such a way, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Strong hands gripped her lacerations, and thick fingers dug into the tender area. “Control yourself!”

“Wha—” Haley’s cheek pulsed from the back of Diarmuid’s hand. The vicious twinge in her arms was almost unbearable. She shuddered under the intense crack her body made, releasing more vermin from her swelling form.

“Forgive my transgressions—but the canister!” Diarmuid shoved the thing into her flimsy grip, and once more instructed her what to do. 

As if being brought around from a dreamy haze, Haley regained some sort of control. Her shaky hands fumbled at the handle. She froze. Her skin cracked open like a shell, and oozed so many—her Knight’s voice echoed in her blurry mind. 

Before her mental state could be warped further from the insects devouring her magic and making her mad—

Haley pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter. And the next, are so much fun when it comes to writing them. Like. Little bit of horror thrown in with some creepy icks. Kind of like a creepy pasta???? Punishment games... they're called that for a reason lololol. And to just confirm, most contestants are going through similar things. More on that later. 
> 
> But uh. Damn. The turmoil for these two- just keeps on coming! Gotta love the underworld yall . Its amazing hehe or maybe the writer just likes putting her characters and others in some pretty intense situations.. 
> 
> I hope you all are enjoying the story! Comments really make my day and inspire me to write, and help me know where you guys are at! I'm pretty chill, so feel free to tell me what you think however honestly! 
> 
> Can't wait until next week! Until then, have a great day!


	41. Defiance

Sounds of gagging rumbled in the trees as Haley emptied the contents of her stomach behind the gnarled roots. Her long chocolate locks were graciously being held back by Diarmuid’s strong hands. Just when the woman figured she’d hurled all of her innards into the already damp soil, she caught a glimpse of exposed muscles. Then her belly burnt anew and the regurgitation began yet again.

Diarmuid winced from her repeated hacking, as his free hand rubbed circles on the woman’s back; he was careful to avoid the sections of broken skin. He had anticipated that she would not accept her wounds well once her mind settled—even more so, after having to burn her very fears from her flesh. The Knight assumed that the current punishment game would be harsh—but this was quite unnerving.

What the Irishman could not comprehend was the reason why this particular portion of the tournament was specifically targeting his Lady, and not himself. Given…their current state of affairs, he had presumed he would be the center of torment—not her.

When the vomiting finally ceased, Diarmuid tore off his shirt and slipped it over the exposed woman’s head. She relaxed her weary noggin into him; he placed a kiss as fragile as her current state to her damp temple. “You will be alright,” he murmured into her hair, tenderly stroking her ruddy cheek. 

Haley merely nodded, groaning from the immense feeling of nausea and disgust from what she’d done to herself. Her condition now stable, she assessed her wounds and grimaced. Her arms, legs, and torso were torn to bits—marred from her clawing—and her nerve endings burned from the flame that had ended her skin’s birthing of… 

Shuddering, she used her telekinetic skills to tug Diarmuid’s clothes tighter to her person, as her fine motor control was shot to pieces. Without being able to heal the injuries as quickly as they formed, Haley was losing precious nerves that would die out if not taken care of immediately. 

As if someone were listening to her very thoughts—the Arena broke open once more. A small tin can knocked the woman in the head. “OW!” 

Diarmuid rolled his lips together, keeping his chuckle at bay as he unlocked the lilac symbol that sealed shut the message. 

_ ‘Quickly use this restorative cream to repair her injuries.’  _

With much haste, the Knight rubbed the masterful liquid against her open injuries, watching in awe as they closed with restorative magic. Her grimy skin purpled, and scabbed over. Diarmuid figured she’d retain the scars. 

Haley muttered a spent, “Thanks,” as she balanced herself on Diarmuid’s shoulder and the trunk of the tree. If this is what it felt like to be drunk—she wanted nothing of it. 

Blowing a raspberry, she exchanged a look with the man following close behind her as they kicked away the leaves that crunched underfoot. Exactly how many times was this tournament going to strip them of their clothing? Gosh, he looked ridiculous—pure muscle, scarred from his past life… and topless. She giggled at that last bit. 

“Diarmuid, I’m... sorry. I’m doing a terrible job of holding myself together and protecting you...” Haley broke the silence of their stroll, by relieving the thoughts that terrorised her mind. 

How in the hell did her Knight manage to become so strong and valiant? It seemed impossibly difficult. 

The warrior tilted back his head, taking in the peeking rays of moonlight amongst the crowded tree tops. “Do not apologize, it is to be expected. You are not a fighter, despite your strengths and abilities. One can only hope—” 

Diarmuid slowed to a stop, and tipped her curious chin in his direction. “—That you remain such a way. Your… hysterics were to be expected. Do not feel bad for them.” 

Sloping her head onto his knuckles, and caressing the corner of his cheek, Haley could only smile at his warm words. How did this man always know the right things to say? “Thanks, you’re… gosh, why are you here?” 

Haley shook her head, and her hand dropped to her side. 

“Ah, well,” Diarmuid scratched at the back of his nape, ruffling the hairs at his neck. “My decisions have ruined me.” He looked to his feet in disquiet. “My failures in the past… as you know—”

Sucking her teeth, the woman pinched his soft cheek, “That was a rhetorical question, you goon,” she sighed. His history was not as terrible as he made it out to be. No amount of emotional turmoil was deserving of ending up in the Underworld, or being filled with curses. “Anyway, thanks for caring for me, being with me. All of it. Everything. I’m gonna mi—”

It didn’t take long before the Arena reminded them that they were participating in a punishment game. It was frustrating, considering the expectations given this round... Haley was unable to properly address her appreciation for Diarmuid’s company. If the luculent strings weaved into the wood were any indication, she assumed the game was ready to begin again.

Every inch of bark and branch was laced with finely threaded webs. Diarmuid contemplated that it reminded him of winter nights, the trees blanketed with snow. Upon close observation, there were thick bulges, leaving the impression that competitors were woven into the web.

“Hnnhh….” Haley halted in her tracks, grabbed her Knight’s wrist and spun them on their heels to backtrack.

Diarmuid’s boots and her cleats remained glued in place, as if she had stepped in a huge wad of gum. “Ehhhh… this is soo gross!”

Legs broiling under the threads, Diarmuid flinched as the thick strings wrapped around him, slowly creeping up his legs. He believed they would soon be devoured by the live netting. 

Both struggled against the weaving. Surveying the area, the telekinetic devised the sole solution to their predicament—despite how much she hated it. Keeping her Knight in her peripherals, Haley focused on their bodies and pulled the two of them upwards into the trees.

As she rode the velocity, she tore away at the grimy silk, horrified as wherever it touched turned a ghastly plum-colored tinge. This must be poison to their physiques! Once her arms and hands were free from the hold, the woman shredded the bindings from Diarmuid first, then herself. 

After being set down on a thick branch, the Irishman felt uneasy. His nails skimmed the dark shade of soft purple. He felt as if he’d laid down in a bed of poison Ivy, and it was not a comfortable sensation. 

What was more astounding, was the fact his Lady had glided them to the top of a tree. Well, the woman had mentioned she could ease her fall from precarious heights—this must have been what she meant. 

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this!” Haley cried, as she anxiously patted their bodies clear of whatever spiderwebs were left. Her greater worry was where the spider that created such a complicated blanket of webs was situated.

Diarmuid let out an exasperated sigh—he entirely agreed with his Lady. While he harbored no fear of insects, this was rather overdramatic. He kept his crimson tinted eyes alert, awaiting the monster that surely stalked them from the shadows. 

Watching his lady rock back and forth—skimming the area, haunted by jitters—left him with a deep feeling of remorse and regret. She was obviously attempting to cling on to whatever sanity she had left to keep him from the Underworld’s labyrinth. 

Feelings of shame and defeat overwhelmed him. If only he had not gotten so close to her. But… would they have come so far? In retrospect, their battle might have ended in the second round—those contraptions could have proved too terrifying to pursue his proper end. If only she had listened to him and used the command seal to teleport herself to safety. 

No, her words that day proved that no matter where their bond was, and as long as he had not tormented her in any way (which of course he would never—not willingly, anyhow) his Lady remained true to her word. True to him. They had barely known each other, yet the woman put herself through hell for him regardless. 

Diarmuid placed his hand atop hers. His were so massive in comparison… yet hers seemed so perfect under his touch. If only he could hold on to them longer. If only he had not failed to stay true to his own word. Maybe Kayneth was right… he truly was a useless Servant, or in this case...

Haley turned her hand over to hold his, bestowing a reassuring squeeze. “I’m okay... just fidgety.”

“I know, you are strong.” He kissed her bruised knuckles, before his eyes caught scurrying movements through the twigs. “And you must remain so.” Diarmuid guided her stare to the stalking menace.

“Uh huh…” she murmured, as she inhaled and stood. She had to put her Entomophobia aside. There were far worse things than insects. Haley looked over her shoulder to her Knight and shook her head.  _ Like something happening to him... Now... where did the little vermin go?  _

Mana surged around the psychic, enhancing her aural abilities. It was always off-putting, as it made her hearing almost supersonic. She wanted to ask Diarmuid to listen (knowing full well that as a Spirit, his hearing was probably much more refined) but kept the idea in her back pocket. If he were not to aid her in keeping him safe, utilising his ears was probably a no-go. Either way—

“THERE!” 

The strength and vitality employed in the telekinetic blast she mustered warped the web. If only she hadn’t been such a chicken before, and had thought to tear it to shreds earlier! Her oversight had allowed the vile creature the opportunity to impossibly spring from each torn line. 

Haley cursed under her breath, as it winked out of existence far too fast. She stopped following the crafty insect and started tearing away more of its home. Even as the strain on her mind pulsed like a heartbeat—the color of green began to return, drowning out the white of the mass. 

Diarmuid followed the spider and anticipated where it would lunge, but curtailed his urge to assist his Lady. It was infuriating, sitting back like a broken doll, letting the woman take the reins. How others could absent themselves while the heroes did all the work—he could not fathom. It took all of his willpower to not strike the creature where it landed.

With an indescribable sound, the black parasite lunged, the bristles of fur on its legs raised. Its round head (too small for the back of its oval body) opened to reveal dangerous drool and fangs. 

Too difficult to trace in the vicious attack, Haley let it strike; and rode the fall, only allowing her energy to turn them in air so the monster splattered underneath her. Covered in slimy ooze, she flicked the remnants of its body from her person. When this was over, she was going to take the longest bath known to man.

“You alright, Lady Haley?!” Diarmuid's voice called from the trees.

As she opened her mouth to respond, air blew past—knocking her backwards. Her cleats tripped over roots. The canopy groaned as the wind strengthened. 

It was too powerful. The gusts turned to savage blasts of air, nearly tornado-like in form. If not for the psychic’s mental hold, she and Diarmuid would have been sent flying. The disastrous breeze was only part of the issues. 

With everything in her power, the Telekinetic batted away the flying debris. Branches nicked her already swollen arms and legs, while rocks and dirt obstructed her vision. Keeping the two of them rooted in place was becoming less and less likely. 

“My, those abilities of yours… I have trained them well.”

The telekinetic’s movement stalled at the sound of the familiar dull voice. Even Diarmuid stilled as he discerned the unwelcome sound. 

“No...no..nonononoononono!” Affinity of wind, that damned condescending tone—Haley wanted to burst into the energy she manipulated and never see the light of day again. 

She shifted her eyes to her Knight who had landed beside her; his fists shook at his sides. This had bad writing all over it. What was this damn round—a freggin’ horror book come to life?!? 

Diarmuid felt the curses within him swirl as a man stepped into the clearing. The air calmed, and the magic around the man swirled in potent supremacy. His build was standard: but his bland, cerulean eyes and chestnut tight hair reminded him of someone.

If Haley’s reaction was any indication—this was the very person who had tortured his Lady so. The smug, wicked grin upon the interloper’s face riled his blood. 

“Well done in coming so far,” he began. 

Diarmuid took a step forward, ready to tear the man limb from limb as he once did his own daughter. 

The clutched fabric in the woman’s quivering hands kept her from once again breaking down into a million pieces. Just the sound of his voice was enough to bring back the haunting flashbacks of terrifying torture. The imagery assaulted the psychic, each memory of the brutal teachings her father had instilled to bring her power to perfection further damaging her shaky equilibrium.

“It has been such a task, tracking you all the way to the Underworld. What a place for you to run off to, and for what purpose? What does saving that long dead, damned soul do for you? Does it make you feel better about yourself? Saving a broken, worthless soul like him?” 

“You have no right to scold her!” Practically spitting the words, the Knight battled to control his ire. He had vowed to protect his Lady from this monster—and he would honour his oath. Damn his end, and the rules that forbade him to care for her. He would gladly—

Haley gritted her teeth, slapping Diarmuid’s chest and slinging him back. She manifested her magic and quelled what she could of the evils threatening to spill from her Knight. Something was amiss, and no way in hell was she was going to let the man fall to the temptation in front of him.

“You’re not my dad,” the woman stated firmly, but the crack in her voice betrayed her attempt to project strength.

“Oh? Daughter—precious beloved—you break my heart. You belong to me, and yet… you do not even recognize your own blood? Has that Forsaken truly melted that powerful brain of yours? Come home to me, and let us—” the man spread his arms wide.

“I am not my father’s possession—” she practically snarled, bridging her hands. “And my father can’t be in front of me. Not anymore.”

Diarmuid returned to the Lady’s side. “Are you sure of this—it is not him?” 

“Positive—it may look like him, and sound like him but…” Haley had not the slightest idea how the imitation before them could use the same magic… “Wait…” 

Despite the information processing in her mind, the bastard in front of her burst into laughter, and tossed the full force of the Arena at her. Air knocked from her lungs, as Haley crashed into Diarmuid from the brute force of the magic levelled at her. 

A clean line splayed against the forest. It took all but a few seconds before the thundering clap of the trees broke apart the world around her. Haley’s arms wrinkled from the pressure above her head, the weight of the timber torturing her senses. 

“You.. okay... Diar…?” Haley said, in between heaves. 

Hands deeply engulfed in the dirt below him, the Knight pushed onto his knees. Diarmuid glanced over his shoulder as the woman collapsed on her rear. Bright scarlet pooled into her left eye, and rained down her side. Miraculous it was—the way she manipulated the air that had deconstructed the forest around them.

“Indeed,” he replied steadily, shifting his gaze to the bastard who shuffled through the overturned woodlands. The wretched, casually whistling man talking nonsense that keenly aggravated the once stoic Irishman. “What of him?”

“Well…” Eyes traveling to the man behind her, Haley granted her Knight a broken smile. “It’s either him, or you. And you know who I will always choose.” 

Honey orbs softening, Diarmuid gave her an approving nod. 

Without weapons, the psychic needed to improvise. Taking a sample from Diarmuid’s habits, Haley used the terrain to her advantage. 

Hair blasting in different directions like the snakes on Medusa’s head as a result of the strong wind, the telekinetic ripped the bushes from their very vines. Each whip she made of them tangled around the chimera. She tightened the shrubbery grips around its throat, squeezing as tightly as her mind could envision. 

“No... daughter... ah—!” The reflection of her father’s image flickered in and out like an old television set, before the monster’s true form came into view. “Mine, mine, forever to be my weapon…” 

Haley snickered. The voice that thing emitted was yet that of her father, even as it gurgled its dying breath. What was left of the lion/tiger-like beast crumbled like bread, and carried in the breeze. Releasing a relaxing breath, the woman rubbed at her left eye. The pain finally settled, though her vision was stained red. Keeping her eye shut, Haley stroked her temple. The headache that promptly followed told the psychic she had almost reached her limit. 

“How… did you know?” Diarmuid whispered, using his thumb to smear away the blood from her eyelids.

“That he was a fake…?” Chestnut locks swayed, “Loki… he’s a master of trickery and illusions. Something felt off with the magic… so I put that together with the fact my father can’t purposely follow me thanks to my… powers, so..”

“Good job, Lady Haley. That was astounding.” Diarmuid cast his eyes to his feet. “You also tended to the curse.”

“That… well, I didn't remove it, if that's what you think. The magic I infused you with only subdued it. It can manifest again.” Sighing, Haley hugged her Knight. “The real question… is how the Arena did this.” 

Curling his strong arms around the teary woman, the Irishman pressed his lips to the crown of her soft head. “I agree. They should not know of his voice… or his looks. But you did well.”

The watch beeped, startling both the competitors with the notification:

_ ‘It is time, continue to put on a wonderful show.’ _

Diarmuid’s countenance sedated as Haley’s soured. 

Gripping the man tighter, the woman cupped the Irishman’s cheeks and entangled their lips. They were so soft and warm against her own. He felt incredibly alive: in the way he mouthed her, slipped his fingers through her hair, and pulled her into his chest by the hip.

A harrowing screech travelled through the broken forest. The clacking bones from winged beasts scattered in the air. Haley broke apart from her Knight and readied to fight them, only… they did not attack. Confusion planted in the woman’s wrinkling eyebrows, as she exchanged a look with her shrugging partner. 

The shrieking became strange squeals. Was that the sound of a pig? 

The ground quaked. Diarmuid’s balance teetered before the shock of the Earth pitched them both into the ground. He embraced her in their fall—he couldn't help it. It didn't matter anymore. Their round was—

It was as if an earthquake shook the Arena; now came Diarmuid’s turn to freeze like ice in the arctic. 

Dashing towards them like a herd of elephants raced boars—demonic boars. 

Fat and swinish, they stampeded in uncountable numbers. Their damson-colored bodies rattled the Arena, and Diarmuid’s heart.  _ This _ would be their choice of theatrics to stun him useless. His hands incurvated for his spears, or swords—anything to counter the wall of beasts charging at them.

Nothing would come to them: he would be empty-handed against their assault. There was no way the beleaguered mind of his Lady could handle them all at once. Diarmuid pressed his eyes tightly shut as he urgently instructed, “You must run, Lady Haley. You—”

The atmosphere whipped around the Knight, as the Arena blurred past him in the opposite direction. 

“Nope nope nope!” Haley shrieked, triggered by the madness she faced. This was another low blow from the Panel. It was a guess—but they really were attacking them with their worst fears.

Those lowly bastards. Wasn’t punishing her with the actual monster in her life enough?!? Now they are going after Diarmuid and what had taken away his one true life—demonic beasts similar to the one that was an incarnation of his own half-brother!

Haley managed to hurdle the raging demons into each other. She finagled her abilities until the beasts’ tusks skewered each other. They stumbled, rolling off to the side as they shrieked from her mental grips. 

Behind her, the stuttering sound of wings caught Haley’s attention. They slipped backwards in the dirt to come to a standstill. Haley’s jaw fell; through her one good eye, the damned cockroaches made a second appearance. But this time, they took flight in a swarm that made the woman crinkle her nose in pure alarm and distaste. 

They were trapped—just like the vermin the Hosts believed them to be. Cornered in the wide open field of leveled trees. She stomped her foot, while Diarmuid grabbed her hand.

“Haley… please, you must go,” Diarmuid practically pleaded. These things were here for him, she need not suffer for him any longer.

The brave woman snapped her face toward his, her eyes glowering at him more fiercely than Diarmuid ever had seen. He could do nothing when those lustrous crystal orbs skewered him like that. They burned with resolve, and a devotion he had never witnessed in anyone who looked upon him. 

“I’m staying,” the woman.. No,  _ his _ woman said, with a finality the Knight did not dare question. 

The telekinetic assumed her powers were no use here. With no special noble phantasm or weapons, she could only hold them off. 

The insects were the first to rapidly break through her defenses. They plucked at them, gnawing at her and Diarmuid’s bodies like they were fast food. Haley managed to mentally thwart them, and yanked a few of them from Diarmuid’s bulky frame, stomping them under her feet. 

As she picked them off, what concerned her more was the remaining boars creating a distinct formation. They were surrounded by their hideous flaring nostrils, and bright, pupil-less, golden eyes. The earth underneath them shook again from oncoming footsteps, leaving the woman and man utterly unsettled.

Not waiting for whatever they sanctioned them off for—Haley slung away the boars, sweat dampening her features. They were letting her do so—why?!!

“No... my Lady, that—” Diarmuid began, having trouble finding the right words as a gigantic boar—blood red with black stripes—stepped into view. 

“Oh... I... can’t…” Haley choked on the sentence, as the boar dug its front leg in the dirt. “I can’t… beat that.” Her voice cracked from the revelation. This was it, their grand finale.

With a roar piercing the air, it charged. The mane under its chin flowed in the breeze, and despite her best attempt—the massive creature forced its way through her telekinetic wave. 

Her abdomen split open by the raging tusks, and suffering a pain so sharp Haley thought she’d lost her mind, she clung to the beast's snout, barely maintaining her grip on Diarmuid’s wrist. Even as she used her magic to enhance her hold on the Irishman—she knew it was of no use. 

It was like riding a bull, but with ten times the mass and strength. Forceful bashing left both of them under the hooves. The crunch of bones horrified her ears. Her breath caught, and thick iron filled her throat. 

In a gurgled scream, the beasts around them blasted away from Haley’s shockwave of mental energy. She turned over, eyes blown wide by the sight of Diarmuid. 

The psychic dragged her mangled body to his and draped herself across him. “Oh Diar…” wetness filled her eyes, irritating her burning left eye. 

Diarmuid’s torn pectoral muscles sparkled with bright vermillion, while his intestines spun a twisted smile at her. His beautiful face was painted with speckles of teeth marks, and his breath was shallow to the point of non-existent.

At the center stage of this maniacal event, the woman directed all her strength into the ground below, raising the particles of dirt and rock to form around them. It was a temporary shield; already the tusks of the beasts began to break away the stone. 

Panting like a dog, Haley draped herself over her Knight. His heart beat an awfully unbalanced rhythm, and even so—she felt his arm curl over her back.

“I’ve been betrayed twice.. now twice mangled by a demonic boar... how fitting for my end,” he rasped, tears backstabbing his usual put together manner of conduct. 

Haley cradled the back of his head into her chest. The tears spilled as her heart shattered. This poor man… deceived and double-crossed. Forced to impale himself in the heart, after clinging desperately to the hope and passion of his Knightly honor… Now to be punished for dealings outside of his control. It was too much, all of this—too much. 

“Stop it…” she whined, patting his messy hair… it was no longer combed back in that quirky fashion. 

Dust sprinkled into her one good eye—she wiped at the nuisance. She pulled away her fingers, and stared at her trembling hands. They were stained with the blood of Diarmuid’s turmoils… of the nightmares the Arena placed upon them for their loss against Cu Chulainn. 

Amongst her disgust, a pang of resilience bloomed… like the paint of crimson on her palms. 

Haley hugged Diarmuid tighter to her person, before she gently rested his head back onto the ground and went to stand. She felt his heavy hand immediately grip hers, and caught the broken look in his golden hue that made her heart burst.

“Please… do not leave me… I… do not wish…” Diarmuid shut his eyes, his pitiful state only aiding in his humiliation, “however selfish... to be left… to disappear alone once again…”

Haley swallowed her sob and knelt beside her Knight. “Never, Diarmuid—never would I leave you like others have,” she inexorably declared, kissing his forehead. “And… you’re… definitely not finishing here.” Curse it all, and curse whatever would happen to her—

“Remember… remember how you said to have faith in you? And to let you bring us victory? Now it's your turn… I’m... supposed to protect you. And I will. Believe in me... like I believe in you.” She nabbed his hands in hers with a firm squish. "You're gonna make it! You and me? We got this. Like every other time!" 

The passionate backbone driving his Lady’s tone moved Diarmuid. How could he possibly believe she would abandon him like the rest? This round—he was meant to fall to the Underworld for their misdeeds. And yet...

“I—of course. Always. But... what are you…?” Diarmuid hacked out. Their situation was bleak, and while he believed in Haley’s devotion—her prowess—what could she possibly do to defy the odds?

Infusing herself with enhancement magic as high as it would go—ignoring the blistering pain and blood drooling from her waist—Haley pecked a kiss on Diarmuid’s lips, and stood. More of her little shelter broke apart, and hooves began digging through.

“I am afraid of many things; But nothing equates to the biggest fear I never thought I’d experience. And that’s—” Haley locked eyes with Diarmuid…the man she came to save, the spirit who tore down her walls and meandered into her heart, “—losing Diarmuid! So… you Host’s want a damn show?!? Then you’ll have your damn show!” 

And she was bloody well going make them regret putting that in their rotten message. 

Shattering like glass, the earthly enclosure burst. Forcing open both her eyes, the psychic detonated all of her psychic energy. Haley had memorized the terrain—it was simple enough. Her photographic memory mapped the anatomy of the roaches and the boars. With everything she had, she placed one final gamble. 

Feeling the surge of mental and magical power fueling the adrenaline boiling in her veins, she spread her arms wide. Everything surrounding them immediately fell stagnant. She could feel the neurons in her brain sizzling out like flares, but she withheld the enemies of the Arena firmly in place. 

Haley swore on her life, nothing was going to move. Not until their time ran out, and the round was cleared. 

Through half-lidded eyes, Diarmuid looked up at the marred back of his foolish, courageous, and undeniably astounding woman. Even he was aware that something within her abilities had just reached another level. The demonstration was incomprehensible.

He was unutterably stunned that even though her body shed blood—the toll of her newly found strength was far too great. His woman stood unyielding. His beautiful Lady disregarded the Panel’s direction for his Spirit to be lost to the gates of the Netherworld. 

The sentiments she demonstrated were baffling. This… wonderful woman—who knew nothing of his true character—had come to the ends of the world to save him. The Knight could not be any more awestruck and humbled to have someone care so deeply for his wellbeing.

Though Diarmuid knew that as their time passed… he would most likely be struck down. There could be no other solution for the Panel, after this blatant disobedience coming into play. If by some miracle that were not to happen, his remaining time would be dedicated to giving her the world. 

She had earned as much.

He only hoped—he begged the God Aengus—they would spare Haley.

It was then that all the creatures frozen in time disappeared. The ravaged Arena returned to its standard white tiles. Cheers from the audience sang once more, and Haley fell to her knees. The pang in her head blurred her acute vision. 

She took in the Observers crawling onto the platform, then peered over to her Knight, as he granted her the most affirming of smiles. He mouthed something that she couldn’t make out. Weakly, she reached for his outstretched hand—

And everything—went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is early because I really love it. I will be going overnight at work and will be dying this week, so figure id bless yall with the chapter early. Chapter 42 should come out on time, but if not, itll only be a day or two late.
> 
> Anyway. I LOVE THIS CHAPTER. LIKE. the peril. The strong emotions of despair. The endeniable loyalty between the two! The bond strengthening haleys powers! 
> 
> Just so much awesome sauce in one chapter! Don't worry dia, haleys not a warrior by any means, but when it comes to her devotion to you, she got your back! 
> 
> Ahhhh please someone tell me they enjoyed this as much as me! I've been so down thinking no one is enjoying the fic lol
> 
> Anyway, see ya week!


	42. Support

"Well damn," Cu Chulainn mused, slanting his wine colored eyes to peer in Loki's irate direction. He could see the steam leaving his ears. It was amusing.

"Pretty sure that's the equivalent of giving us the finger," Achilles chuckled, shaking his head with a joshing smile. "Spunky, that one."

Loki was doleful, and incensed. Had that woman no sense!? He was a  _ God _ and this impotence immeasurable! Regulations were part of his contract with the God of the Underworld (a position he felt  _ he  _ could do better) and alas, this, THIS—

"We will take her out, now!"

"Lord Loki, surely you do not think your adoring audience would take that very well, do you?" Merlin chimed. He laid out his palm to gesture the Panel's attention to the onlookers.

Intent faces in the majority of the crowd gawked at the newly found strength in the devout little couple. The Mage of Flowers needed their enthusiasm to help persuade the others. There was still much to be done. Quelling Loki's temper, on the other hand…

"My illusions could easily fool the audience! Do you not think of what is at stake here!? Hades would soon have my head!" Not willing to blather on, Loki's long silver garbs flowed in a magical breeze. His golden eyes shone brightly.

He was ready to end those fools. His need for the crowd watching be damned.

Merlin chuckled, his placid expression ever-withstanding the glares sent his way. "I do think that ruining this moment would easily bring forth confusion, given how well she is doing. And Loki, what of your punishment?"

By this point, Loki's palm hovered in the air—his idea of how best to elude the crowd's gander to other contestants and disrupt their vision of what lay before them fell. He wanted them to be deceived with the gruesome death of the sickening blasphemists. But that damned wizard... "How do you—"

Dolos caught the astonishment flash across the man of mischief's eyes. Must he always be so disastrous at concealing his frame of mind? Had he contained them, he would have remembered the Incubus's clairvoyance.

For one to be able to observe the present: it was quite reasonable that the Magus had witnessed the events that felt like ages ago. It seemed Loki caught on to his mistake as quickly as Dolos had mouthed the answer to his halted question.

The God of Mischief shook his head, and set his regard back to the duo below. "For what purpose would that serve now? Their punishment can easily be the girl's death."

Merlin shrugged his shoulders impassively. "Would  _ they _ know this outcome was the punishment for breaking your rules previously? From where I stand, it seems they believe this course of action is strictly for his body's restoration."

The hiss that sizzled across Loki's teeth had him writhing. He flexed his extended hand; it itched to smite the flippant woman where she held his Arena's minions firmly in place. Against his better judgment, he flicked his fingers and folded his arms.

He was unsure what this damn sorcerer was plotting by keeping those two alive, but he was certain of one thing: whatever game Merlin was playing... he would beat him at it tenfold.

—————————————

Her fingertips briefly brushed upon his palms. Haley's insentient countenance and her pliant body were quickly hauled away, and blurred with each dragging blink.

"Please," Diarmuid's voice was drowned out by the blaring in his ears. "Please, do not harm her," he desperately pleaded. Not her. Not after everything she had sacrificed for him.

There were so many surrounding voices now, yet their words could not be placed.

Only the screams of his raw wounds registered in the black pit of the restricted awareness he had left. They—the Observers—whisked him away. Deplorably—Diarmuid had reached his limits. He was utterly disgusted with himself.

Despite that feeling of failure and worthlessness… he could only hope that his wish for Haley to remain safe had been heard.

—————————————

"See… was it not as I had spoken? Picking at their minds and utilizing their deepest fears worked wonders!" And really—did that girl's mental barrier have to be so strong to sift through? For a simple magus, her ability to stabilise her intellect's fortresses was quite impressive. Most of the fears he knew of were from the dreams he devoured, and the prodding he’d done through the Irish Knight's easily-readable mind.

Athena struggled to withhold the rolling of her eyes at the wizard's boisterous attitude. Fortunately, the scenario panned out as expected. It seemed too close that Loki would have insisted otherwise.

"Ohhhhh, do not go tarnishing your beautiful expression like that! Nothing with a reward so great would not come without risks. Tsk tsk." Merlin wagged his index finger to reprimand the Goddess like a grandfather scolding his grandbaby. His psychological work was somewhat harsh, but essential for certain growth. 

If the daughter of Zeus wanted any sort of positive result—it would have to be accompanied by a raging God. These things happened.

The Greek sighed, twirling her lengthy hair. "I will give you the praise only for foreseeing the girl's spike. But I will hold you accountable for making the Norse god suspicious.

There are still many matters that are yet to have a solution. Work on that, Mage of Flowers, and then speak to me about reward."

"Oh, now, you are no fun. Well, I will just be off then… Much to do, much to see. Fare thee well!"

Athena eyed the cheery Magus as he turned (almost in a dance) out of her quarters. When her room was clear, she let out a deep breath of wonder.

He had successfully convinced her that the pair might be useful. But the measures he takes to preserve their—well-being are quite profound. 

Just what was that Half Incubus up to?

—————————————

Haley's sight came together, the fuzzy dots of the world finally adjusting into focus. It took the woman a few seconds to recollect herself and the events that unfolded just hours ago.

She had completely rejected the Panel's directive to allow Diarmuid's fall—and gave no shits about the choice. Even if she were tortured for her clear disobedience, she stood by her decision. The entire panel could go fuck themselves, for all she cared.

The drumming in her head had now slowed to a small rhythm. Haley propped herself upward from the—what was this—a true medical bed?

Azure eyes scanned the rectangular room. Grey walls surrounded her; a simple lounge chair in the corner, medical supplies on the counter with a sink, and a whiteboard hung next to it. A hospital room? Did the panel get so sick of her that they stole Diarmuid away and cast her back into the world of the living?

Almost frantic, Haley stole a glimpse of the back of her hand and sighed with unmitigated relief. The triangular command seal was still bright and red, and remained etched into her skin like a tattoo. Another glance downward had her realizing she was in a hospital gown that hung to her knees like a dress. Her skin was blistered, and she knew there were going to be scars left from where she plucked her flesh apart.

Wait—she needed her clothes! The gift she was to give to Diarmuid— Haley tossed the weighted quilt off herself. She snagged the clothes that caught her eye on top of the green armchair. Her hands dug into the back pockets as she sighed a breath of relief—the trinket was still there. Diarmuid… she had to find him.

The door whistled as it swung open, and Haley crashed into the back of two Observers guarding it. Swallowing any self doubt—she flung them to the side and took apart the hallway. She had two directions to take off and find her Knight before she was captured.

What was she to do once she found him? Run away? It felt ridiculous but… reckless as it was—

Screw it. As the men across from her quickly regained their equanimity, she bolted down the corridor of doors. So many empty rooms in the endless hall of white walls.

"Ah, you are heading in the wrong direction, young lady." Haley clenched her fists at the familiar, melodic voice.

"Screw you!"

"My my, that is no way to thank me." Merlin's face flushed, as he magically emerged from rosy pink petals.

"For what?!" the woman snapped at the half-incubus like a rabid animal. "For torturing us!? How about for pretending this was some sort of tournament?! Well thank you, thank you so much for your shit!"

The Grand Caster only chuckled at her dramatics. It was to be expected, after all. She—as well as the other contestants—had overcome many hardships in their short time in the Arena. It had not been kind to any of them. 

His lavender eyes softened, while he raised his hand to the Observers that rallied behind the fuming woman. "Rest easy, she is to be handled by me."

The men exchanged looks before offering Merlin a slight nod before they backed away. An exasperated sigh exited his lips. Returning his attention to the steaming pot of a woman before him, his staff materialized in his palm. "Well, let’s reunite the star crossed lovers, shall we?"

Before Haley could retort, she felt magical energy swirling around them and just as she was about to blink—the hallway spun and before her was a door. Next to it was a large see-through sheet of glass. A ball of angst swelled in her throat and effectively paralyzed her.

Through the window pane she could see her Knight. He was still mangled… in what looked like beyond repair. His flesh remained freshly torn open—and there were Observers lining every wall as a medical examiner was picking him apart.

Haley's stomach turned over, as though she'd been hanging upside down from a roller coaster for far too long. Disgusted, she yanked at the unyielding handle, and almost turned the lock with her telekinesis; she would have, if not for the consistent pats on her messy head.

"Now, now, relax. I know it looks gruesome: but they are investigating a way to reverse the effects of your bond. I know it's troubling—awful to see—but it will help persuade some others for you two to remain in the tournament." The woman refused to look at Merlin, and his eyes softened at her hunched-over stance at the doorknob. "Come now, if they can figure out their answer, they will heal him."

The curtains open to the room crinkled as they glided shut, completely shutting Haley's haze-filled eyes from seeing Diarmuid. Her fist collided with the glass; her head hung low with bitterness. Dishevelled locks spilled over her shoulders.

"Why the hell are you even here?" Fist slipping from the partition, the woman sank to her knees and huddled them close. "They won't find a cure—from the way I see it, they're experimenting, and once they find their answer…they'll..." Haley dreaded the thought.

"Hmm? I would not go so far as to say that," the wizard hummed as he knelt beside the brooding woman. He decided to give her a taste of the truth she was missing. "Some beings do have a say in the matter, I suppose. Hence the deliberations that constantly happen."

Merlin flashed his ivory-hued wrist; the Psychic’s eyes homed in on the symbol displayed there. Azure eyes widened, then crinkled in outrage. That lilac hue, and the shape of a flower: how had she missed it? She’d thought herself to be more observant.  _ Of course _ this would be the answer to their assistance in the Arena.

Merlin had been one of their Sponsors. Medea had mentioned the Panel was throwing out their own—unfair—gamblings on who they'd expect to be the winners. To think that the Mage of Flowers had placed a bet specifically on them was beyond her imaginings; but that fact merely angered her more.

Panel interference on her side meant the others were meddling with the affairs of other contestants. While this divulgence put her and Diarmuid leagues ahead of the others—it was distasteful and completely inequitable to everyone else. Egan had mentioned they didn't have sponsors at all, and he and Armenia deserved it... probably more than she did.

So what—they had Merlin on their side. That was great. But what of the other lot? Who had Loki, Gilgamesh, Athena, Cu, Dolos, and Achilles placed their bets on? Did they guide them through the tournament just the same? For what damn purpose?! For their cruel entertainment? Hell, what she had been through in the past twenty four hours shared such similarities with her disastrous past that she wanted to hurl...

In Merlin's direction.

"So… what… they'll just accept Diarmuid's condition… and then what? We go back and fight?" Haley ground her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. She had made a final stand and expected death—not to continue in this wretched lie.

Placing a consoling hand on the young lady's shoulder, Merlin offered her one of his gracious smiles. Her pain was reasonable given the trials she was facing. He could only watch as their story continued to unfold. "It's just how it has to be."

Haley smacked his hand away, but the perceivable clairvoyant retracted himself seconds before she could make actual contact; though the pure resentment in her eyes was placed properly on his aggravatingly smiling features.

"What is even the point?!" She was practically shouting now, as her entire body shook with anger. "If you're truly on our side: then tell me! Do we… do we even get our wish granted at the end of this, Merlin?! Do we?! Because by now it's obvious what my greatest desire is!"

Fuck it all, the last thing Haley wanted to do was cry. She wanted to remain fierce, but the only thing that wretched idea did was fill her with so much despair that her eyes' emotions betrayed her.

Flicking her expression to the tiles beneath her feet (covered in gripping socks that reached above her ankles), she spoke in a hushed whisper. "Is there… really a way to save Diarmuid from the Underworld… from Hades?"

Adjusting himself upright, Merlin splayed his palms against his puffy, white robes. "I wish I could answer that for you, my dear, but alas—I cannot. I can only encourage you to continue forward, if you wish to remain by Diarmuid's side."

"GET OUT!" Haley practically spat the words at him. The scheming bastard. She would have to see for herself? What absolute bullshit. If he would not give her a straight answer, then he was unwelcome here. So was his pathetic help. "Leave me alone! Just go!"

"As you wish, darling. Just try to be strong. I know you despise me, and the rest—as you should. But don't let those sensitivities get in the way of what is important to you," Merlin offered his advice. 

As he turned his back to the woman, he placed his gift to her on the small tabletop next to the chair in the waiting room. "Take this when you are ready, it will disappear if you decide to discard or forget about it."

Without saying anymore, the wizard dispersed in his flurry of amethyst sprinkles—effectively leaving the sour and bitter woman to contemplate her fate in solitude.

Haley simply remained on her knees… she burned holes in the floor with her bleak stare. She didn't want any more favors from the half-incubus, and yet… she forced herself to plop her rear on the cushion of the chair.

Funny, it was leather—but she fell into it nicely. Taking a proper look around in the square lobby, she realized that this medical wing was layered with crystals, and fancy furnishings. The walls even  _ glistened _ . Was she in the medical facility from the Sacred Market?

Looking back to the blanketed window, she prayed they would find some sort of answer on how to halt Diarmuid's transformation. As much as she detested agreeing with anything the Panel said at this point—Merlin was right. Despite the pure disrespect, there was still a chance. A chance to save him. That's what the Mage of Flowers was getting at…

Right?

As directed, Haley picked up the magenta box (no larger than an apple), and turned it over. Taped to the back was a note. She hesitated her hand over it, considering if she really wanted to read or uncover what laid in the present. She shook her head in disapproval, shoved the thing in the long gown’s pocket and drew her bare legs to her chest. It didn't feel like she was ready.

Diarmuid was in that room, probably suffering for all she knew—being investigated for whatever was happening to him. Wasn't it enough that he had been mauled by a boar, and had to watch her mind and body suffer from the perils in the Arena?

Focusing hard to blank out the world around her, Haley attempted to communicate with her Knight telepathically. All that answered her was light static… as if something interrupted that very possibility.

"Of course that wouldn't work…" she grumbled into her knees.

"Ey, what's with that gloomy look, girl? Really now, after all I went through for ya, that's the face I'm greeted with?"

Haley lifted her head and was overwhelmed with emotions. She was struck first with recognition—that heavy southern accent was hard to miss—but the anguish smacked her harder. There was that poking sense of happiness that the Observer recovered alright. However, when the other female’s condition registered in her bleary crystal eyes, grief hit home.

Even though the silver-haired woman wore a proud smile—her body was liberally wrapped with bandages that barely covered extensive lacerations. She had a broken arm; the adjacent leg was casted as well. Crutches—something that felt unreasonable given the dead's bodies and the healing capable for them—kept Trista upright.

What the hell did they do to her?

"Ah no, don't go given' me that look 'neither," Trista was engulfed by the woman after she erupted from her seat.

Carefully, the lanky woman enveloped her arms around the Observer's neck, pulling her close. She felt cool to the touch, a feeling Haley almost missed given her situation with Diarmuid. "Oh Trista, I'm… I'm so glad you're okay…!"

"Yea yea, I'm fine," was Trista's casual response, as she tried to maintain her balance with the girl wrapped around her.

"Why… didn't they heal you…? Why do you… look like this…! It's so… so cruel…!" Haley sniffed out. This warrior was part of the Underworld's biggest defenses and yet… she looked like a broken girl.

Trista's one free arm curled around the compassionate woman for a second, then lightly pushed her off. While it was sweet she cared, it was more affection than she was comfortable with.

"Eh, well, punishments of torture can be tough when yer supposed to follow some fool's orders. But I digress, if they want me to feel the pain of healin' like a human, I can handle it. In a way, I can find good in that. Feelin' human again isn't such a bad thing, even if it's uncomfortable."

"Torture… Gosh… I… I am so sorry… I…" Haley saw Trista shake her head, as she motioned for them both to sit. It crossed her mind to help, but the woman easily traversed the room, as if she had mastered the support.

Seated across from her in one of the many chairs in the area outside Diarmuid's room, the psychic swiped away the tears from her eyelids with a pathetic sniffle. There was really only so much more she mentally felt she could handle.

Naturally curious, Trista had a lot to discuss, but little time to offer it. So she needed to use this moment to convey what she could. "Now, don't go apologizin' anymore. It wasn't yer fault or Diarmuid's. From the whispers, I hear he's the one who caused such unrest, yea'?"

The girl only offered her a confirming nod. The dejection in her watery gaze made Trista’s stilled heart ache terribly for her. The little predicament they were in was quite… new. It happened timelessly, that the souls of the dead ate the spirits of the living to feel alive, or even to become ghosts to haunt the world instead of heading to hell. But this…was entirely different.

"How's he farin, have ya seen em yet?" the Observer decided to ask, to steer the conversation where she needed.

"No, they shut me out to figure out what they're going to do about his… 'condition'." Haley clenched her fists together. His fate was already decided, she was sure of it. She could feel the tears brimming in her eyes again, and the exhaustion setting in from consistently acting like a tormented child.

Trista dipped her head in understanding. It must be quite unnerving for the girl. It was obvious they were smitten with each other, but now even more so. It must have been hitting her like a hammer on a nail. And if the Observer knew anything from her centuries as a Gladiator of the Netherworld: the only way to effectively fix the problem was stripping the man's Spirit now and sending him off to Hades.

In fact, someone should have done so, once they even suspected it. Blood being spilled from a dead man was quite the discovery. No matter how close the replica, this should not have happened.

As if following the Observer's train of the thought, the girl burst into hysterics. "Trista… I... don't want them to send his spirit away...he’s… he’s!" Haley cupped her face in her hands dramatically, "He isn't bad… or an evil spirit… he didn't even do anything to be here… and yet…!"

"Oh sweet thing," Trista tucked her hospital gown under her rear, and leaned forward to outstretch her hand for the sobbing girl to hold. A comforting smile stretched across her face when the girl took it so gently, "Yer friend… he isn't like the rest, ya? He's… a Heroic Spirit like the few on the panel… right?"

Haley tilted her head into her palm that clutched her temple and massaged bits of her hair. "Yes… or he was… how… did you guess…?"

The Observer's head shook from side-to-side. "It was speculation at first. His name and existence has been cloudy here. Every mention of it, left most with a strange inclination that they could not place it. When Diarmuid declared his name before sparring with Ozzard, the bastard had a sense he knew it. Didn't tell nobody, til we talked in the dungeons. "

Trista let go of the woman's hand and patted her knuckles before pressing her back against the chair. "But when I fought against him in the Arena—and felt his heart fluttering under my hand—I figured it out. The only hearts that beat in the Underworld are that of the Servants and living granted access here. Their bodies are magical constructs meant to eliminate their temporary existence in battle to return their spirits to the Throne."

What did that even mean? Haley knew the purpose of the Servant's containers in the living world, but how did that apply to her partner? "Trista… what is happening to Diarmuid?"

"Mmm, this is also speculation," the Observer bit the inside of her cheek, "but I reckon he's returnin' in some way to bein' a Servant again."

Haley couldn't comprehend it. If that were true, and if Trista was aware—then her duty would have been to dispose of Diarmuid then— not to blatantly disregard the Panel. Could Hades even take his soul if he again became a Heroic Spirit? "You knew… and still left him… why?"

The woman shrugged, "I did mention I wasn't so bad, 'member?" Trista winked at the dumbfounded woman, "Plus, yer friend showed consideration for me, when It-he... shoulda been focusin' on winnin'. I couldn't just punish a good heart like that when it still had a chance."

"Jeez… I was so wrong when I interrupted your fight… I really am sorry… for all this," Haley mustered another apology. Morals did exist among the souls in the Underworld, and because of that, Diarmuid was still with her… however temporary that all seemed, now.

And to think, their predicament started the moment their souls were infused together by the crystal. Her Knight's heart started beating then… What did all of this even mean? Trista's voice broke through her wandering mind.

"It's fine, I don't take nothin' personally like that. But ya gotta control yerself, that ramblin' can cause trouble. I know yer own heart's in the right place too, but others will see it as weakness."

"I know. But… not like that matters… they can't let him stay like this…and the only way to fix it would probably be sending him to hell..." Haley flinched at her own words.

Trista only shrugged again. "That might be true, but I think yer given' up to soon." She jerked her chin to the girl's pocket. "You survived this long right? With some help, too. Be grateful fer it."

"Thank you, Trista." Haley couldn't withhold the first genuine smile she'd had since all this came to light.

Haley watched as Trista propped herself on her crutches and strutted past her. Even in that pitiful state, there was still this superiority of this woman that motivated her. If this Observer could survive whatever she was dealt, and rock a cane like she was, then Haley could, too. Had to, for Diarmuid's sake.

The man was always remaining strong and true for her—even in his own moment of weakness. So no more crying. Okay, maybe  _ less _ would be more believable.

"Good luck, hun. I really do wish good things fer you and that Diarmuid fellow. The Underworld can be downright nasty given the people who are here, but sometimes, even the Gods make mistakes. Maybe one day, they'll figure that out." Saying what she needed, Trista patted the girl's hand a final time, and disappeared through the long halls.

Alone once again, Haley stared at the seal embedded above her knuckles. Actually looking at it, it reminded her of a mind's triangle. How fitting.

Bringing her gaze to the ceiling, she thought on what to do next. If they didn't allow Diarmuid to continue, would they grant her a good-bye? What would she even say? If they did let him move onward, what would she say when they won? Could her greatest desire be to reincarnate him? Was that even a possibility?

She groaned. Wait, Merlin never confirmed or denied that if they were to win, that proposition would even be granted. His secrecy made her believe Armenia and Egan were right… If that were true…then…

His fate was screwed either way. Was he to meet his end in that room this instant, during, or possibly at the end of the tournament? Haley didn't know which was worse out of all three. Maybe, just maybe, they would allow him to stay in Hell's Lobby until a Shadow found him… If that were the case, then…

She could have them allow her to reside with him. Gosh, she sounded just like Egan, now. 

But wasn't his desire relatable? It felt as if every time she felt closer to an answer of what exactly was going on around her, more questions arose. That made her uneasy.

Periods of time flowed by, leaving Haley drowsy in the chair. A couple of times, she stood and paced off her mental instability, while also thinking of all the possibilities. Only when the door creaked open did she feel any sort of alleviation.

The spirits spilled out and brushed past her as if her existence made no difference to them. Only a single Observer remained, and finally,  _ finally, _ allowed her in. To her shock, he closed the door behind him. Muttered something about allowing them privacy. That was fine, totally fine.

Pulling a chair next to Diarmuid, Haley sat and observed the steady rise and fall of his chest. She listened to the delicate breaths of air he took. His chest and torso were bandaged neatly, leading her to believe he had had the same treatment as Trista.

How exactly did that work? Did the injuries he sustained work as any other? Trista was broken and torn apart, leading her to require outside assistance. But Diarmuid's injuries were more… open. Looking closer, and examining the fabric, she felt magic.

_ Oh, so that is… magical healing supplies. Jeez, why not just seal the wound entirely? _

Either way, seeing him so broken while she was practically fully healed depressed her. She indeed kept some scars from her ravaging herself the way she had, but felt no lingering pain like he probably did…

"Please Diarmuid… please be okay…" she said in a hushed voice; she was worried to bits. Her dainty hands sandwiched his right one between them. It was still warm to the touch, which she was not expecting.

When he did not so much as stir, Haley scooted closer to the bed. Her left arm supported her cheek on the sheets at the level of her Knight's broad shoulder. She would rest beside him, dutifully awaiting for him to regain consciousness.

And when he did—she and he would open Merlin's gift—to hopefully move forward. 

_ Together. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh the angst. Oh the reveals. Oh the exposition. I hope this chapter was interesting enough and not too boring! Overnights has done killed me. I rarely get good sleep due to medical reasons, and my job literally broke my spirit. 
> 
> Anyway. Everyone is becoming suspicious of Merlin. Like, what is that cheeky wizard up to!? IDK MAN. Idk. But I do love him lots!
> 
> I'm curious to know the readers theories! What do you think is gonna happen??? There is Still a ways to go!
> 
> See you next week!


	43. Last Chances

Nightmares frequently visited the psychic. Sleep had become an unknown, virtually foreign concept. Vivid, torturous memories were like a plague meant to punish her for the control she had forcefully taken over her captive’s mind. These deeply disturbing images were often relentless… but significantly diminished, somehow. Having someone on her side—caring for her—had graciously dwindled the horrific visions.

Until now. 

Arachnids raged in her thoughts, ravishing her skin and bursting like blisters. Haley impulsively scratched and scraped, attempting to tear away at the insects that used her flesh like a nest… only to be left horrified when any attempts to remove the creepy things caused them to multiply.

Heat melted her skin until nothing was left but prickled bumps and torn human meat.

Her desperation flipped like a switch, melding into a dry and calm voice. How galling it had been, hearing that impassive tone as he healed every bit of her body. Always.  _ Every time _ . As if  _ nothing _ had ever happened. All the proof of the horrors she had overcome magically removed and replayed over and over in other forms of torture. 

Sick—she was frettingly sick of the man finding a way to ruin her. It only worsened when the howling of Haley’s beloved Knight split her eardrums. The sound crippled her heart and hanged her high like a night in Pilgrim Salem.

Pain riveted in her abdominal muscles. The body her consciousness filled was painted a deep crimson. Life was a precious thing, yet she did not fear death. Water drunk from the hand of Fionn would save her. After all, she had just saved her companion’s lives from the demonic boar—of course they would come to her aid.

A wicked grin settled on a comrade’s face. His words were cold and damning, as her lifeline fleeted through his fingertips into the pools of blood soaking the earth.

The beat of her heart thrummed to a stop, and the world blanked out. It reemerged with many dramatically conflicted emotions: to be loyal and serve, despite who the Lord may be... regardless of the little respect held, and the constant blathering of insults; to prove there was worth in their contract—

Only to feel the rupture of the no-longer pulsing organ. Pain emanated from the left side, and a choking realization that what speckled the earth was not the blood of the enemy but her own. 

Everything that was wished for, now throbbed in guttural hatred for those around. There was nothing left but the eruptions of everything contained inside. Only the bleak darkness of sweltering heat surrounded her. 

A voice whispered to forget, and all things seemed normal. Was that...a dojo? It was infused with nothing but hilarity—yes, a loser such as herself was meant to burn for eternity in the crimson flames for her wrongdoings.

As these thoughts reverberated in the psychic’s thoughts, she tried to shake them away. Tried to grip the reins of the dream and dunk that repulsive resolution deep in the trenches. Each time, the landscape only worsened: it defiled her very psyche and cursed her with more evils.

Was this… really what he felt? All that he believed? As if all that weren’t enough, his pained cries continued to harass her. She could do nothing to console the soul that broke as the world had forsaken him. 

Haley shot awake, the greys of the small, padded room coming back into view. Diarmuid—still laid flat along the mattress, still beneath her fingertips. 

The woman sucked in air, her windpipes clinging to the oxygen.  _ Those were… Diarmuid’s memories…  _ the grim details (she was certain after the reminder of the Arena’s dealings) that had followed were the events that had transpired in his true and second life.  _ But that dojo thing, what the hell was that? To think… he believes he deserves to rot in hell for… making those mistakes in life…  _

She couldn't take it anymore.  _ Why… why do you still... _

Chestnut locks rested on the hard chest of her partner. What was being sheltered in the crevices of his intellect was ludicrous. Her Knight deserved so much more than to suffer in the way he was. The telekinetic had thought they’d overcome most of those rubbish ideas… clearly that was wrong, as they continued to torment him either in the form of the evils within him, or his own self-pity and low esteem.

Her nightmares aside, it was markedly more prominent now that she had to help him overcome his grievances. That way, whatever was left from the Grail could be eliminated. Once and for all.

As the brunette settled, she felt Diarmuid place his hand over hers. “I am glad you are well, Lady Haley.” 

Haley almost leaped out of her skin at the sound of his raspy voice. How long had the jerk been awake?! 

“Gosh, give a girl a heart attack,” she exclaimed, and pulled Diarmuid’s messy head to her shoulder. “I was… so worried... about you,” she sniffed.  _ No tears, woman _ — _ you promised yourself! _

“I know, as I was for you. Have they treated you well, are you still hurt in any way?” 

Haley shook her head, and stroked his cheek with her index finger down to his chin, “I am fine… if you don’t count being sick and distraught over you.”  _ And then some, given what our bond has displayed for me. _

Diarmuid chuckled. His woman had created an entire ordeal in front of the whole Arena, and was eaten alive by insects among other things, and yet… her focus of nerves was still on him. What a pity. 

“Listen… I… have things to tell you...” 

Diarmuid perked his head at the softened words from his Lady. 

“What is it…?”

Gazing deep in the warm, sweet-as-honey orbs her Knight gifted her, Haley began to describe the few hours after her awakening. His attention never shifted, as she recalled even further back—to the details that Egan had granted her and the suspicious answers given to her by Merlin himself.

The Irishman shifted his gaze for mere moments to the blankets covering his scarred form. He… had suspected as much. As time elapsed in the tournament, and more shady rendezvous followed suit—it was only natural that something hosted by the God of Mischief himself would have deceit driving it.

“I’m sorry… that I dragged you into all of this, Diarmuid.” Haley finished her recount, and dropped her mournful eyes to the wrinkles in the sheets. “You have gone through hells yourself with the hope to be redeemed in some way… but…”

Caressing the narrow chin of his beloved, the Knight elevated her to meet his understanding expression. “You need not apologize,” he began, keeping his golden hue locked on those crystals that mesmerized him so. “I’ve had my own doubts, since the day we were destined to meet. I do not regret them,” he engulfed her serene lips with his, unable to resist physically reassuring her. 

Albeit disgruntled—as the fervor she returned him with almost kept him locked with her much longer—he broke away. Diarmuid needed to persist in giving a voice to his gratitude for her. After all, his woman had stood her ground against the very Gods for his prosperity. Not even in his tryst with the Loathly Lady, had he experienced such reverence for him.

“For if I had not have sworn my fealty to you then, I would not have been graced with your heart.”

“You’re… gosh… such a romantic.” Haley trailed her tongue on her lower lip, the taste of the man still fresh. Something was different in that kiss, compared to any of the others. But there was a more pressing matter she was concerned with. “You’re… not upset though... that I didn’t tell you sooner?”

Guilt poked its ugly head around the corner. In truth, she had searched for the best way to tell him, but wanted more information to go on. Nonetheless, it felt wrong somehow—leaving Diarmuid in the dark. 

Diarmuid shook his head and laid back on the pillow behind it. He found the angles of the ceiling, and traced the diamonds that layered the walls. “No, I am certain you had your reasons. I had not told you my thoughts on it, either. So… I suppose that makes us both guilty of preserving the other’s feelings.”

Her index finger brushed her cheek. It was a bit embarrassing for this man to be exactly on point… but, he was rather good at it. Haley giggled. “Yeah…”

“I must offer my apologies, though. It... was selfish of me. Upon questioning the results of this tournament: I remained silent.” Yes, he had forgone warning his Lady of the possibilities for his own desires… “Forgive me… I only wanted…”

“To stay with me,” Haley concluded for him, offering a gentle palm to the turmoil that reflected on his countenance. Her Knight nodded into her ardent touch and graced her his most doting smile to affirm her benevolence. 

The pace of her heart deliciously quickened. If the emotions that gave her the jitters were any indication… now was the perfect time to bestow upon her Knight the gift that lingered in the dress-like hospital robes. “I… want to remain with you, too. In spite of it all, having you… by my side… has been the hope I desperately needed.” 

Silver in her pocket clinked in between her fingertips. There was a glimmer from the chain pulled from her gown. “You have given me so many treasures, and when searching for the perfect outfit for our little date… I found one I felt fit you. I just… didn’t know the best time to give it to you. Figured now is as good as any…” 

The woman beamed, extending the necklace with the dog tag at the end of it to place it delicately in Diarmuid’s outstretched palm. “It has a message engraved in it. I hope my… feelings are conveyed… and that you like it.”

Diarmuid inspected the cool metal. The beaded links were bright, and the flat tag at the end shimmered under the light. There was indeed a small message carved into the gem.

_ “Diarmuid Ua Duibhne _

_ My Hero.” _

Tears accrued in golden hues. “This…” the proper words could not form. This little trinket… the message engraved in it… all spoke to the man of the woman’s feelings in so many ways… He grasped at straws to figure his best response.

“It’s subtle, and sweet, and simple, but explains everything I feel in two words,” Haley continued, as she traced the lines of the fabric. “And it is everything that you are. A Heroic Spirit, and the man who… worked his way into my heart. And showed me what it’s like to be happy. Jeez, now I am the one who is being such a sap!” 

Haley laughed awkwardly, though her Knight’s captivated but silent countenance left her with unease. Maybe she had gone too far… “If… you don’t like it… I can—”

Diarmuid silenced his woman with a kiss. Parted her lips, and twined her amenable tongue with his own. He kept his prize firmly grasped in his hand, as he curled his arms around her neck and pulled his woman closer. 

The blanket folded across his torso crumbled to the floor, along with the bandages, revealing his bare, scarred chest. Enamored by his ardency, Haley palpated the ravages across his left pectorals, while her left ran through his dishevelled raven hair. 

If she harbored any other doubts that her Knight appreciated her gift—they were swept under the rug by the intensity of the mouth that explored her own. 

When Diarmuid cut away to allow her breath, his large hand slipped the corner of her gown past her shoulder. The cool air kissed her exposed skin, as he gingerly brushed his lips from her neck to her clavicle, leaving a hitch in her throat. 

_ “Mmmhh... _ this…” Her squeal caught with the shudder that followed.

The Irishman reluctantly pulled away from her bristled skin with a quaint smile. His woman’s blush and quiver led him to believe her innocence was not to be trampled upon. He slipped her gift over his head. It bumped at the center of his chest, and it shined bright against his light skin... like his Lady’s personality.

Haley laid her hand flat on the hospital garb, and adjusted the sleeve. A dark flash made her hiccup. Only one other person had touched her in such a way, and it disgusted her beyond belief… And it had halted… what was almost a perfect moment.

She wanted to explore that more, but of course… even now  _ that man _ had found a way to slip in… and ruin her bliss.

A light sigh emerged from her small lips, and the woman let her wandering thoughts move onward. There was still the little tidbit of Merlin’s gift that needed to take priority. Having Diarmuid’s full support meant that it was now or never.

The gaze of her Knight went over the small box. Dainty hands twisted the ribbon off and uncovered the top. She already had the note unfurled in her opposite hand, and took the small pebble from the box. 

The two exchanged looks, before Diarmuid took the magical sphere into his hand. He stared at the strange energy, and debated.  _ This  _ was his final chance… encapsulated in a tiny red ball. 

Haley stared at the magician’s elaborate script. It seemed almost as ancient as him. The wizard who lived outside of time, in a tower of Flowers. In Avalon. Why did the legendary Incubus leave his special sanctum… the realm where he watched the world? It was another enquiry to add to the many she already had.

“I shall take it. If it means that I can remain with you longer, Lady Haley, then I must,” Diarmuid stated, before he swallowed the piece. 

He winced, closing a single eye as he felt the magic spread through his blood and swirl with his magical cores. His gaze shifted to his Lady, whose fist tightened at the base of her sternum. She too must have been feeling the effects of whatever spell Merlin concocted. 

“Did... it work?” Diarmuid asked, as the energy within him began to dispel. A flutter began to dim out, like a flickering bulb.

It felt almost immediate. The telekinetic flexed her fingers, and stretched. She… was not tired. But that meant… She slid her fingertips over her Knight’s bicep that emitted little heat once again.

Azure eyes met glazed ones tinted with red. For a second, she felt it: someone was watching. She had an inkling of who.

“Yeah… yeah, it did.”

———————————

The lanky woman collapsed on the familiar linens of the king-sized hotel mattress. Haley unclicked the watch from her wrist and tossed it onto the nightstand. A free two days from the Arena meant that device could stay far—far away from her.

Following her dramatic collapse on the bed—off came the cleats, the socks followed soon after. Her grimy toes winked at her, reminding her it was time to take that much needed bath. 

Door clicking shut behind Diarmuid, a chuckle rattled his shoulders. His Lady’s mannerisms were quite exaggerated... over the top, and somewhat dangerous at times. Yet he was quite certain that was what had drawn him to her. 

Each passionate jab and energetic lunge certainly made each day… exciting. 

He shot his eyes to the jewelry that hung from his neck, snug against his chest. _I am…_ _Her… Hero…_ The idea felt decidedly whimsical. He had merely done his part as her Knight, and yet she revered him so. It was a sensational feeling.

“I’m gonna take a long, hot bath,” Haley sprang from the bed to link her arms behind her Knight’s neck. “While I do, I want you to relax your mind, because I am sick of seeing red in your beautiful eyes. Understand?”

Her determined look undermined the hesitating breath Diarmuid held. The last time they had tried… he failed miserably. His psyche had been assaulted by the haunting imagery of exactly what he’d turn into… and the things he would do if he fully let the evils within him take the lead…

No. Those very images that tormented him so would not win. 

Large hands travelled down the woman’s waist and landed on his Lady’s hips. Drawing Haley closer, he nodded a kiss onto her forehead. “Alright.” 

Haley lingered, keeping her Irishman close. No matter how strong her Knight was on the battlefield, it was always the mental struggles that hit harder for most. While she knew that the gist of what centered inside him was inherited from the corrupted Grail, overcoming the internal conflict had proven difficult—even for him.

It did not help that visuals of the wretched things that bedeviled him assaulted his equilibrium. If anything, she personally understood (thanks to her own battles with PTSD)... even though she had not completely gotten over things, as that partial reaction to his affections earlier had made clear.

“‘Kay, see ya in a few!” she exclaimed, trying to forget. Giving his hard pectorals a playful slap, she drifted off to the tub that desperately called her name.

———————————

In the pit of darkness, a small flicker of light blinked on and off. It was hauntingly silent, only the drift of air giving any clue there was an exit. 

Through the eyes of the protagonist, forward, floating movements registered. Each step extended the cumbrous darkness, and was unrelenting.

Undertones of conversation sprinkled their way into the dark space, yet the figure continued their frontal descent into the stretched room of murk. A question piqued their interest. Why were they moving forward when there was not an ending to this disturbing path? 

_ Betrayal would prevail. _

_ Failure was imminent. _

_ Trapped in this darkness of anger and a harrowing world. _

…

The footsteps slowed. Their owner contemplated the ideal. If disaster was always the result, what purpose was there in moving forward? 

Dreams, wishes—they were the hopes of the weak. There was nothing worth fighting for anymore. The world had lost its sense of justice. There was nothing left, at all. 

The footsteps came to an abrupt halt. The strings of fate would forever choke the man. There would be no respite. No one worthy left to serve, no trust in him ever given again. The curse of his very existence being enough to strangle all that he desired.

All that remained was the past that would follow him. Permanently taking away the future. Destiny would keep him strapped down by the evils in the world, anyway. 

Anger replaced all convictions. What was his  **purpose** ? Was giving in to this drastic viewpoint truly the only way? Had to be. Must be… 

“No… ah…” 

_ Why? _ Why—in his desperation for answers—was his Lady silent? Was she not supposed to help him? Nurture him through the warped madness in his consciousness? 

His thoughts wanted to scream. There was no answer to be found anywhere. The only thing that came to light was the madness. The despair and frustration of being left to die.  _ Twice. _ His enemies stretched far and wide, and yet he died by the hands of those close to him. 

And thus, the warped and mangled body of Fionn appeared at his feet. His hands began to tremble. They harbored the blood of his fallen Lord, whose eyes were now an abyss; his innards twisted around the deformed physique. 

The grotesque image made Diarmuid look away, forcing him to witness his other mutilated victims: Saber’s true Master corroded, his flesh turning into streams of melted flesh. The dismembered facial features of a once proud Englishman. All that was left…

Was the woman. 

It all rushed back to him—to realize his rage and win—all that was left was killing the woman. 

“No… I… could never…” his voice finally broke the silence. The ghastly monstrosities he had committed could never extend to her…

If he remembered correctly… it was a defensive mechanism, forcing all his hatred on the one person who could help him. 

But... she hadn’t been. Even now, as his thoughts beckoned him to snap her in two, to prevent her from betraying him like the rest: she remained speechless. What was he to do…?

Surrounded by the enemies ludicrously slain by his own hands… those which he could never forgive for—

_ Took you long enough to get there… _

“Lady… Haley… where have you…?”

_ Just think about your last words _ — _ what's crossed your mind and what’s around you. _

Every time she did speak, he met her words with disbelief. What in the world could she mean? What was left to ponder on? There had been nothing but depths of pitch black darkness. His steps drew him farther into the black, until his motions led him to the mangled bodies of his perpetrators. 

Thinking further back, he was solely able to witness a demonic version of himself tear them to pieces. It had shocked him to his core, to the point of being unable to watch. A version of himself he could not entertain in the slightest, and yet there were times where it took over.

Think, he needed to think. He could feel something pushing his anguished thoughts into resistance whenever he imagined himself that monster. As he tackled his mind for answers, he felt something pull at his ankles. 

Confusion turned to horror, as the deathly ghouls at his boots began dragging him further into the shadows. Their voices whined, as he struggled against the void. His lower half dissolved, and Diarmuid began to lose all faith he could figure out the answers. 

He was meant to be lost and corrupted by the evils...

His vision turned a gruesome red, and the scarlet tears poured down his cheeks once again. His pained screams gurgled around the thick iron in his mouth. Flashes of his final words bellowed in the deepest parts of his thoughts—

“I would never forgive them… they would suffer from my hateful rage…!” 

_ “Hateful…rage…” _ he repeated with little conviction. His voice was so soft, it could have been whisked away in a breeze. 

He could not place it, nor could he prove it. But he knew, somehow,  _ she _ was shielding him from his anger. Somehow in the blackness, her arms were snug. They were giving him an embrace that shattered all hatred and foolishness. 

Diarmuid reached his hand from the dark sludge that oozed around him… that attempted to compel him to turn away from the full light in the distance. To give in to the color shift of his eyes, and the parallels of his form.

No. He couldn't. There was a warmth that reminded him. A memory that played back, while her care and magic engulfed him. 

He was not a man of temper, or a vile monster. The things he spewed when his spear found his chest were nothing short of an outburst. Why was this portion so mundanely stupid and obvious? The evils of the world… his emotional speech collecting with the corrupted mud… his ravishing of those who wronged him. 

“I can, no—I  _ will _ forgive them.” The Knight clawed at the vacant space. He struggled against the depths of despair: the stupid curse would not twist his anguish any longer.

And then it all disappeared.

Discomfort pressed hard on Diarmuid’s stiff limbs. He ached when he sat up, and rubbed his eyelids with the back of his fist. Normally, when he awoke from the distressing visions, this unsettling feeling was replaced with peace of mind. Had his epiphany not been the correct conclusion to come to? 

Besides him, he felt his Lady stir, coming to mirror his upright position. She must have sensed his puzzlement, as she firmly took his hand in hers and gave a squeeze.

“It’s all up to you, now.” 

“I am sorry, what? I do not understand.” He truly didn’t. There were still remnants of the wickedness inside… Why…?

“I have helped you as far as I can, Diarmuid.” Haley’s voice was low. This was always the most difficult part. Where she could say nothing, do nothing, as the person shifted through whatever was left that not even magic could break. 

“But.. you have been helping me thus far—why do you retract now? Have I… done you wrong somehow…? My Lady, if I have—”

Haley shook her head vigorously. It was the opposite. “Nothing. I really mean it. There is nothing left my magic can do for you. To get rid of that last bit, you… have to come to the realization on your own.”

The Knight swiveled his long legs over the bed frame and contemplated. This was completely blindsiding. From the beginning, he had come to his senses through her suggestion and magic. Now he was to come to a fix all his own? He was utterly unsure of what that exactly entailed. 

He felt frustrated. He had assumed her abilities would guide him the way to completion. Diarmuid figured this final leap into his mind would be the last, and he would be free from the pain lodging in his being.

Standing tall, he paced back and forth. He could feel her stare burning holes into his back. He recalled everything. From the very day they had begun this frivolous quest to rid him of the curse. Without the crashing waves of imagery haunting his thoughts, he had not a clue what was expected of him.

“Master, just what is it that I need to eradicate the evils within me? Please, tell me what I must do.” 

His Lady only rolled her lips together. “I can’t. All I can say is: everything you’ve come to grips with has to mean  _ something _ . And only  _ you  _ can figure that out.”

Diarmuid’s hands clenched at his sides. The carpet coming into view, while he tried to piece together just what any of that could mean. Given all the trials he faced, it could be anything. Without some sort of guidance: he was a foreign traveller in his own mind, without a map or any sense of direction.

Frustration filling his being, the Irishman turned away from his woman and stomped to the door. If he were to figure out the meaning behind her command, then he needed space. The watch stated they were free to venture the Arena going forward, and that was what he would do. 

Haley adjusted the strap of her tight tank, gloomily looking at the steel door that had just slammed shut. She had not expected him to react in such a way. It was conceivable that Diarmuid would be perturbed, but she hadn’t expected  _ this _ much angst. 

It was clear now how much he depended on her… which was something that faintly brought up her lips at the corners. Given the nightmares she’d witnessed, her cherished Knight had very little he invoked his trust to—so the fact he entrusted his well-being to her was profoundly uplifting. 

Plopping back on the sheets, Haley redirected that faith to her Knight. He would figure out that final bit of his value tonight. 

And end that curse forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Such bittersweet emotions that travel in this chapter. From Haley's nightmares, to Diarmuid painful memories, to the benevelonce to the dreary end of the curse. The wonderful gift. Ahhh, I love how much closer these two keep getting to each other. I hope y'all like it as well. I'm really trying show how much their growing and caring for each other. I hope you all liked the chapter! And will see you next week! 
> 
> Tell me your thoughts! I love them!


	44. Self Reflections and Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry yall, think this weeks chapter is gonna be a tad late. See you soon!

Diarmuid travelled the decorated halls of the Hotel, his large hand sliding across its walls. He was barely aware of his surroundings, as his hooded gaze was transfixed on his slowly moving feet. Their room was a few doors down from the golden entrance of the elevator, so when he halted in front of it, he barely registered the ping as the massive doors slid open. 

The drift downward seemed endless… the humming of the technology buzzed in his ears. Agitation reared its ugly head, as he slammed this curled palm on the button for floor 27. The doors rolled open and the Knight drifted aimlessly to the stairwell passage. For the life of him, he could not remain still—he needed to keep moving, lest he feel the pain within crush his strained chest.

Downcast eyes observed the perfectly constructed, rectangular steps. The navy colors matched exactly with the slivers of the connected walls. If only his craftsmanship of curse-releasing were as perfectly refined as the shaft. Maybe then he’d…

He gripped the railing, his fingers trembled. Even outside the magic, his thoughts began to cloud with the painful voices. They drove into him like a bull, horns digging into his heart. Diarmuid attempted to shake off the strangling reflections that successfully created his pitiful state. 

When the doors opened to the fresh aroma of the outside, Diarmuid fell back into step. The Barriers within the Dome were quiet. Only the bristling of leaves in the wind made any sound. Where was he even going?

Uncaring, the Knight let his legs stroll. As he did, Diarmuid sampled the tiny river that spilled into the glistening lake with his index fingertip. The water was warm and reassuring, unlike the painful haze in his being. Did he not once travel this very path with his Lady? 

Back then, he had also had an episode of the curse as they’d hovered over the fence. It had been stronger then. The dark shades of crimson had sunk deep into his eyes. He remembered the gist of it: of feeling defeated from the insults to his chivalry and his honor as a Knight. Back in that moment, he’d wanted to abandon that code of conduct—to no longer be shackled by the ideals that smeared his honor. 

Why had they even touched upon the subject? His memory was like a fog that slowly drifted and clouded his evocations. 

Carrying his glossy vision to the speckled sky, the Irishman truly wondered what had brought his convictions back. His lady had accepted them, as he himself was responsible. Was that his only reason? To have someone who may have not truly understood the semantics behind his Knighthood, but still rallied behind him? 

Now that very person had left him to his vices… abandoned him to figure the true meaning behind the revolting spectacles he'd witnessed within the realms of his own mind. Somehow, he was to reach a conclusion all his own to rectify whatever was left inside him. It seemed preposterous, given that everything he had accomplished was because of her guiding voice and magic.

Diarmuid’s eyelids trembled at that painful idea. He couldn’t look at the sky anymore—it appeared just out of reach… like removing his curse. His memories were an enemy army, beating him down and stabbing through his resolve. His empty hands grasped for the comforting steel of Gae Dearg, or Moralltach—any of his cherished arsenal of weaponry. Though they did not materialize in his palms, he was grateful two of them were safely tucked away in his Hotel room. 

_You have my thanks, Great Wizard. For your intervention has prolonged my Spirit… using one of the rewards' keys was genius to elicit your intervention... and thus has permanently halted my unintentional theft of Haley's life force._

A heavy hand landed on the left side of his chest, where his heart laid dormant. Twas a strange feeling, having that replicated organ work… only to cease functioning yet again. He knew it was peculiar, but had just assumed the magic shared between him and his Lady caused this effect normally. In a way, he missed the familiar beat. It had made him feel almost human again. Capable, even. 

As he travelled down the sidewalk that aligned with the fence separating him from the lake, Diarmuid shuffled through the multitude of endpoints that would assist in his curse healing. He had let himself get distracted, and _this_ needed to take priority. Assuming that this saunter would assist seemed misguided, as he slowed to a stop. Where was he?

His fist slammed on the wood, as he felt the weight of his burdens wringing his chest like a cloth full of water. Insufferable this matter was! Diarmuid could not stand for it any longer. He simply wanted to be rid of this contempt… wanted to forget this whole ordeal so he could facilitate a win in the tournament, and be with his Lady before…

"What… must I do..? She said... to think on _everything_ … but I have…" Diarmuid had. He _had_. 

He’d learned he had forgiven himself—had pardoned even those who had wronged him. His summoning in the modern era had left him with little blame for Fionn and Grainne. A fragile dip into his psyche revealed that to be true, but it still had affected him. Was that what he needed to focus on?

He had already delved around his chivalry… so that mustn't have been it. 

There was that time when he’d needed to be more… accepting of his mistakes. Not allowing them to burden his future choices lest they be beneficial. To not let the judgement of others dissuade his goals, or drive him in an unhealthy direction…

Then there were the obvious dealings the evils tried to do to him. How it attempted to twist all of his despair to adjust him into an entirely different person. 

_Curse it all… I still cannot seem to grasp how all of it pieces together…_

Inside his heart, he felt the strain build up once again. His head pounded in vexation. Diarmuid’s prevailing reaction was bitterness, to it all. He thought he had accomplished so much, yet now when things solely relied on him: he felt like a failure. 

_I truly am a fool. I cannot do this. My Lady has put so much of her faith in my ability, yet I am unable to accomplish anything._

Diarmuid rested his forehead on the wooden railing. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the urge to give in. To just leave himself insufficient. But that would be a dereliction of the one duty Lady Haley had left him, and she had always been standing beside him.

_I would fail her again… Kayneth had found his way to her… I stole her life force… was defeated by Cu Chulainn… I cannot afford another blunder… and yet…_

He could not find his way. 

Weak was a good description of how the Knight felt. It was not a comfortable sensation. He hated dropping so low. The muscles in his temple twitched. His hands trembled vigorously at each side of him. The wooden bar barely kept him steady. 

If only solving the curse had a more distinct path... Unpinching his eyes, he stared at his reflection in the clear-as-day water. He could see the tints of red left in his right eye. The teardrop mole that enchanted women and caused him much grief. His past, that was tainted from joyous adventures, from hunting trips to betrayal and injustice towards him.

The irritation in his chest clenched tighter, and he looked away. Once, he had stood on the terrace of their room. He’d painted pictures with his Lady in the jeweled sky, and when the sun rose later… he had told himself he was done with failing. So much for that.

 _Why… Why do I keep thinking this…_ Diarmuid scolded himself. His mindset continued to be sidetracked. His vision flickered, and beneath him he saw the mirror of the moon in the ripples of water. 

Diarmuid took the gift that hung above his chest into his palm. If only he could live up to the beautiful splendor she perceived of him. As of this instant, he was nothing short of a broken fool.

His reflection was pitiful, but the moon’s shimmering glow had him raise his head, wanting to glimpse the crescent shape... It was much more beautiful in the surreal navy of the skyline than in the translucent water. Each glittering light above him was stunning, in its own splendor. 

"....All I desire...” he whispered to no one as he looked up at the painting in the sky, “...is to move forward… wh—" Lips parting, the Irishman inhaled. "How could I have not…"

If only his heart could beat yet again. If it were, its pace would have sped up from the exhilarating realization. His lips transformed from the straight line to half a smile. It was so simple and obvious—and yet completely missed.

The past had haunted him like a relentless ghost. It manipulated his actions, and obscured his reverence of himself. He believed he needed to prove his worth with unquestioned loyalty, and by serving despite his own wishes. Blindly he followed that goal to no end—to the point where it had been unhealthy; to which his value offset, and actions ruined him.

Even though he slowly accepted what the magic had tasked him with, he never truly moved _onward_ from it. Just as in the vision, he was to keep moving forward. His past… was just that. Something he should leave there. Learn from it—of course—but not let it dictate his happiness. Not allow it to overpower his self worth.

“I… have been holding myself back. I have always… been looking down upon myself, when just like the stars and moon above—I should be keeping myself uplifted despite it all.” Tears brimmed in the Knight's eyes, as the boulders on his chest crumbled to mere pebbles.

Diarmuid cast his gaze to his reflection once more. For the first time, he witnessed the blood in his eyes rescind—until no longer any trace of it existed there. Inside his heart, he understood what remained. That task would be difficult: a long journey he knew not if he had time for… but aim for it he would.

A tiny plunk hit the water’s surface. There was no more tension in his being. Finally— _finally_ he had returned to his old self… before any curses, and with a new light. A new beacon of hope for himself.

Everything was not lost. 

Raising his head to the sky once more, for just a while longer, he would allow the tears to fall.

—————————

Azure eyes shot up to Diarmuid as he entered quietly into the room. Her countenance immediately softened, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. Haley closed the sketchbook and placed it on the empty seat next to her. 

In that doorway, her Knight stood tall. Confidence radiated from the man, who crossed the room to kneel on one knee, his left hand over his heart while he lowered his dark head. "It is with honor that I return, Lady Haley."

The woman chuckled, leaning over from the couch and clasping his hand from his heart into both her ready palms. "I have never seen your eyes so clear, my Knight. I… am so proud of you."

Diarmuid met her gaze, and returned her sweet smile. All the while, further feeling uplifted by her recognition of his Knighthood, "It was as you said. It was only I who could do it in the end."

Haley nodded, "I'm sorry I couldn't give you the answers. If I did, you wouldn't have been able to heal on your own. But I'm so glad… so glad you could see what you needed."

"Even so, you have guided me here. And for that, I am truly grateful." The Knight cupped her right cheek and gently pulled her lips to his, no longer able to resist the temptation before him.

He decided he could not stop there. His thumb traveled to her lower lip, parting her jaw to envelop her tongue with his own as his mouth pressed firmly to hers. Desire was imbued in each intricate move. It was adorable how she fumbled to replicate his skilled movements, her inexperience inevitably seeping through. He slowed, guiding her tongue up and over, before bringing his teeth to her lower lip for a gentle tug. Haley’s lake-blue eyes widened at the unexpected—yet welcome—titillating sensation.

When her arms linked around his muscular neck, Diarmuid deepened their French kiss. It was an intricate dance, over and under, shallow but infinite, until they finally parted—lips barely an inch from the other.

"Holy… shit..." Haley managed in between breaths, shocked at the fervor behind his caress. “I… don’t know what I was expecting but... gosh... that's what it's like to tongue kiss?"

It took all Diarmuid’s will not to laugh at her suddenly bashful nature. "Indeed.. was it to your liking..?" He needed to be certain of her pleasure and consent, given her bewilderment. The last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable. 

"Yeah… I liked it... very much... man, if that's how you kiss... I wonder what else you can do… and are good at..." Haley shyness rocketed with such an implication, as heat burned her cheeks up to her ears. She turned away to hide her embarrassment. 

Diarmuid leaned in closer, turning her flushed face back to him. It was utterly adorable—the way she goaded him. 

At that moment, he wanted to give her more. Show her more. The Irishman wanted to answer her curiosity with his techniques and passion. He wanted to share his feelings through physical contact, even if doubt lingered. Even if worry pained him. 

Was his Lady ready for him to take the next step… and was _he_ prepared to shoulder the responsibility of guiding her through a deeper intimacy? Dared he attempt to share the joys of true physical connection with his beautiful Lady Haley? Diarmuid agonized over the right course of action, his innate, centuries-old chivalry warring with the urgent clamoring of his ardent desire and thrumming blood as he gazed at her sweet, trusting visage.

"For once I would like to experience this moment further... despite the fear that plagues me it to be wrong... that I should be reluctant given our differences..."

Haley's smile couldn't stretch farther across her face. She loved when her Knight was forward, pushing to do what he wanted (despite his worry). That felt more like the confident fellow she had read about, ages ago. The situation was a bit strange, knowing full well he had returned to that painfully cool exterior—but she focused more on her affection for him instead. Carefully, she slid off the sofa, sheltering her lower lip under her teeth. 

She was not sure of what this would lead to, nervous of how far she'd let this go and enlivened to undergo the passions of her Knight. Of… the man she came to have feelings she'd never guessed possible.

"I'm not... so sure what exactly that means you will do... but—" Haley leaned forward, ignoring a painfully unpleasant memory trying to push its way into their dalliance. The flip side of possessing powerful telekinesis and telepathy was her brain’s stubborn refusal to dull down or edit the most painful memories of her past suffering. To forget the horrors of her ‘training’... it took a great effort of will to refuse those negative past experiences to gain a foothold in the joy of her connection with Diarmuid.

No. She would not allow her evil sire to ruin her present and her future—as he had so ruthlessly tried to do with her past. Intent on dispelling the dreary recollection, her left hand gripped her Knight’s waist, to enable her to straddle him in his lap. "Show me more..." 

A flare went off, urging Diarmuid to express his adoration of his woman in a more passionate way. He took her hands in his, mapping the crook of her neck underneath his fervid lips. He paused to let his hot breath tickle the sensitive area, delighting in watching her body twitch and shiver from the sensation.

Brushing the edges of Haley’s bare skin with the tip of his tongue, Diarmuid groaned as he felt her involuntary shudders in response to his sensitive, feather-light smooches. Infinitesimally increasing the pressure of his suckling kisses, he traced the elegant line of her neck, stopping just short of marking her tender flesh with possessive love bites. The reactive sound of her hushed whimpers was truly music to his ears; he repeated the motion until she squirmed restlessly.

Wanting to entice her more, he trailed her nape to take the edge of her ear and took the lobe into his mouth. By this point, his free hand itched to wander her body's other sensitive areas, looking to unravel her sweet spots—and give her endless pleasure wherever he touched and kissed. 

Diarmuid wanted so much to show her his affection in these areas and hear the sweet sounds that would exit her lush lips… his yearning for the woman straddling trustingly against him was at a fever-pitch.

"Lady Haley... I wish to explore you.. may.. I have the honor?" 

He lightly pressed his lips under her ear lobe, giving her individual butterfly kisses down to her clavicle. He was being careful not to be too bold, while also trying to entice her most sensitive spots. He desperately wanted her to say yes, to give confirmation she desired more of him, but also did not want to pressure her either. He was still… 

In the seconds it took to bring these new sensations to her experiences, Haley hummed in delicate delight. This was entirely different to how she had imagined it’d be... in all the most perfect of ways. Though… the nagging voices in her head still screamed at her to slow things down—to save herself from being hurt. Worry and nerves scraped against her swiftly climbing desire to enjoy the singular experience of Diarmuid’s assured fondling and amorous expertise. 

Conflicted thoughts raced for the lead on the choice she’d make. All Haley wanted was to relish in her partner’s endearments… but moving further along brought back that wicked night that set her Bounty in motion… the terrible event that had horrified her to bits—yet gave her the strength to use her abilities to escape.

Not wanting to leave Diarmuid in the dark about her grievances, the psychic nodded, tightly clutching the hands of her Knight. "Y-yes… you can... But..." The tilt of the man’s head showed concern, and her sputtering picked up. “B-but I’m nervous. I… my… the only time I’ve… ever been touched like this was when…” 

Diarmuid returned her squeeze, easily comprehending what she struggled to convey. He remembered—all too well—what had almost happened to this woman. He would _never_ do such a thing, never push her so far. “I am aware, and I will take special care to replace that feeling with my favors… if you shall trust me with the pleasure.”

“Diarmuid…” Haley withheld the impulse to cry—she had to. It was still nerve-wracking, but having her perfect Knight be so kind… had her burying the apprehension deep under the earth. This—this was her chance to lay to rest the ghosts of her traumatic assault… or if she could not banish them completely, at least try to shunt them to the side. _I cannot allow my fear to rob me of any more of my joys. I trust this man… I trust my Knight. He will not hurt me._

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Haley asked, “T-then can you... keep doing that thing with your mouth…?” she stuttered, tilting her head into her shoulder. Fortune favors the brave, right? She resolved to set aside her fears and succumb to the heady sensation of Diarmuid—her brave, loyal, beautiful and _damned gorgeous_ Knight—lavishing his prurient attentions on her aching body.

With her newly granted permission, Diarmuid practically purred into her neck. He parted his lips and graciously glided his tongue with each additional kiss. He loved how her body reacted—the shiver that went down her spine, the bumps that he brushed over with his lips. 

Tiring of the rug that persistently indented his knees, Diarmuid scooped his woman into his strong arms. Her legs swung over the hard muscles of his biceps. He carried her to the bed, and plopped them both onto the messy linens.

Haley propped her back against the headboard, limbs faintly trembling as Diarmuid pulled her face back to his and desperately linked their mouths again. Only this time, his large hands cradled the back of her soft locks. 

Diarmuid weaved through the silkiness of her hair, grazed his hands down her back and around the sides of her chest, before he stopped just above her cleavage. He broke their kiss to gauge her response; a subtle nod granted permission to his open palming of her breasts over her clothes. They were perky and round, yet appeared small in his large hands.

Her subtle moans encouraged him to remove and toss her shirt into the corner of the room. Diarmuid gazed intently at her chest and worked his hands down her subtle curves, inching her body into his. She nestled her forehead into his chest, tracing his spine: a simple motion, but it elicited such complex emotions in his heart. He believed her to be so beautiful… so sweet. He willed his fingers not to quaver as the enormity of the moment resonated throughout his consciousness. _She trusts me… she cares for me… she wants me… I vow to be the Knight_ _—the man—my Lady Haley truly deserves._

Tilting her back against the bed frame, the Knight hovered over her, hooking his fingertips underneath the center of her bra and pulled it over her frame. He maintained eye contact, desperate to ensure she was still accepting of his advances. The rosy flush in her face grew, but she did not protest. 

With every sweep of Diarmuid’s hand—every impassioned kiss and nibble and suckled bite—the clamorous fears of Haley’s past died down, leaving her more and more receptive to his skillfully erotic ministrations. 

Diarmuid dipped, caressing her right breast in his palm while attending to the peaked nib of the left with the tip of his tongue. It was unbelievably erotic—how her hands raked through this hair in response to his fondling.

"You are... enjoying this... my Lady…" He proclaimed in a seductive, raspy whisper. He enjoyed the way her head tilted back from his touch, her shallow breaths as she accepted the sensations. He was surprised (given his notable… _experience_ ) how much he relished the feel of her skin… that way her reactions lent extra gravitas and flavor to his own lust. World-weariness seemed to effortlessly disappear in the presence of his treasured Lady… in more ways than one.

“Mmhmmm… but Diar—” Hesitant in expressing what she wanted, the telekinetic balanced her forehead against his. Her hands once again dug through the dark hair of her Knight as he slipped away.. She wanted to drift... as he had. 

She had not even so much as touched a man before Diarmuid, leaving her uncertain she would do—well, anything right. She was painfully aware of how curious she was of what he looked like exposed—and willing—underneath her venturing hands. 

“I… c-can… Can… I unclothe… and touch you… too…?” Haley's cheeks blushed as her question slipped through. She met those golden brown eyes—clear as day—and was happy to be given a kiss to her cheek.

"You may. Be free to do as you like.

Diarmuid retracted himself, leaning back so his half-disrobed woman could untuck his button-down polo. The way she dropped her eyes and nurtured that lip while she slowly—diffidently—undid his top, wholly charmed him. She had seen him undressed before... however, those affairs were mere matters of circumstance, and now it was purposeful—sensual. And his darling woman had never had the opportunity to experience such pleasantries. 

He aimed to change that. At her pace, of course. It was quite obvious she was insecure with the matter, given her past, and callowness. The evils she had been exposed to—which, had he been around—were something he could never abide by. 

As Haley fumbled her way down the fastenings, he tucked her hair behind her ear and pecked her forehead. Much as he wanted to touch and kiss and explore her nubile little body—above all, Diarmuid wanted to gift her the confidence to test her own boundaries on him. 

As more of his chest was revealed to Haley, her fingers grazed over his pectoral muscles. Awe shined in her sea blue eyes. His body was a work of art, hardened and sculpted in all the right places. Her azure eyes darted ceaselessly as she struggled to process the beauty of Diarmuid’s unclothed form… her breath growing shorter at the expanse of masculine perfection on display. 

His delicate kiss inspired her to sensually trace the contours in his muscles... the bumpy ridge of his torso. Despite how true to the history of the ravishing he’d endured—her Knight was mesmerizing. "You.. are so beautiful..." she muttered softly.

Haley tugged Diarmuid closer with her free hand and pressed her lips on all the scars, her hands busy shaping along the sides of his torso and strong arms. In her peripherals, she noticed his eyes close, while he tipped back his head. She must be doing something right. The woman hugged his body to her face and kissed the abs protruding above his navel. This man was gorgeous—and she had not even seen him entirely. 

Cerulean eyes drifted to his belt and debated heavily. Should… should she remove it and attempt to please him? Before she could even process the thought, Diarmuid's fingers laced within her hair as he brought her face back to his own with a deep kiss. She loved the way he took care of her.

“Lady Haley… we have time aplenty for you to reciprocate my caresses… let me learn you, let me show you how good _you_ can feel. Allow me to express how I feel about you—with my lips, and my hands… though I cannot wait to feel your own upon me… I refuse to be selfish, my Lady.” Diarmuid gently guided her nerveless hands away from his pants, taking any sting from his directive with his considerate pronouncement.

Haley chuckled, somewhat surprised—yet slapping herself inwardly for the fact it was obvious he’d figure her out—and shook her head. She wanted to proceed—at least attempt to see and feel what he was like behind the pants. “Just a peek…? Y-you… did say I could explore you too…”

 _Well, that is adorable, how can I deny such demands?_ Diarmuid exhaled, and released her generous hands. “As you please.” He confirmed, locking their lips together once more. 

Haley strained to deepen their osculation, though Diarmuid preferred to tease her by merely tracing the outline of her plump little mouth with his mobile lips, loving the way she chased impatiently (yet eagerly) for more. He chuckled as she growled, bequeathing a last deep kiss before breaking away and crossed his hands behind his head.

Petite hands unclicked the waistband before Haley slipped the material from his jeans loops. The button was a more particular matter, as she almost struggled to unweave the silly thing. _Gosh, I'm so… embarrassed… He can remove my bra flawlessly, but I can’t unfasten a stupid button._

From her hair, her Knight’s rough hands slipped under her thin arms and splayed across her petite, subtly curvaceous body. While his eyes never left that pretty little head of hers, he helped her adjust the stud. Haley couldn’t help the light blow of her breath, as she removed his pants. 

_“_ So it… does work the same,” she said aloud in astonishment, running the tip of her finger over the bulge in his underwear. 

“Indeed, this body can do all the same things, aside from bearing any heirs and..." he casually nodded his head in the direction of the lavatories, "Other contrivances."

Haley couldn’t restrain her chuckle. Magic was such a strange thing. 

“It’s...not hard..?” Wonder danced in her eyes as Haley cautiously rested her palm over Diarmuid’s groin, glancing up at her Knight to judge his response to her careful fondling. 

“I am containing myself, trust me, it is a struggle,” Diarmuid murmured, as he rested his hands on her hips. 

“How come…?” Haley asked, convincing herself to insert her hand through the slant in his boxers. The flicker in her Knight’s eyes as she took him into her palm helped relieve her of worry.

“Nnh... to which are you… referring?” It was difficult to speak, when her hands began stroking him… her hesitant touches grew in pressure and confidence as his breathing quickened and his hips arched without conscious volition. He silently thanked his years of rigid training (both physical and mental) for allowing him to set aside his screaming need for fulfilment—

“How come you’re… containing yourself?” 

“Mmmfff… I simply do… ah… not want to push you... past your limits…” Diarmuid groaned, drifting his hands up and over her pretty little breasts. He thumbed her bright nipples, tweaking them hard once more in rhythm with her voyaging hands. His index and thumbs plucking at her rosy nipples as she leaned closer, chuckling softly at her immediate, eager moan.

Haley withheld her whine. Not only did she enjoy him beginning to touch her again, but his patience deeply moved her. Where had this man been all her life? She couldn’t comprehend it, as she removed herself from his promising length and wrapped her arms around his taut back. “You’re… so kind.”

Diarmuid tipped his head in her direction, kissing her temple. “Anything for you… Lady Haley.” 

Now that she had effectively teased him into full arousal, the Irishman grew more frisky. Still keeping her unfamiliarity in mind, his intuitive hands pushed her back to lay firmly against the mattress. There were more arousing places the young maiden had yet to discover, and he was desperate to hear her sounds of enjoyment.

To this point, she had been somewhat quiet in her delight—which meant there was much he had still to do. After all, he was bare to the trousers, while she had yet to lose any lower clothing. 

Time to rectify his oversight… But first, Diarmuid intended to pay proper worship to her sweet, high breasts. He gloried in the widening of Haley’s crystal eyes and the raggedness of her breathing as he diligently bent his mouth to her firm globes and began to love the unfurled buds with expert swipes of his tongue.

When her Knight brought his full lips to her nipples, she had not known what to expect. She combed her fingers through his raven locks as she focused on the skilled movement of his tongue… the way he fondled her roundness had her squirming underneath him. “Ohh… that…” 

Diarmuid picked up the pace, exploring the perk of her bosom… suckling the voluptuous flesh. He rolled her breast underneath his left hand, massaging down her belly before he rested his palm over her pelvis. As Haley mewled and arched her back in supplication, Diarmuid took it as permission granted to slide his fingertips beneath her panties, burning to touch her intimately… and possessively.

He grazed over her mons, taking notice that she was smooth and sleek, before he continued his descent. She was only a little wet—he aimed to fix that. He wanted her to enjoy every single second that she allowed him to libidinously traverse her body. 

The tips of his index and middle finger rolled under her little pink hood, and dipped into her folds, careful to lightly massage the sweet space. He was careful to not prick her purity, as he wished for his persistent manhood alone to ultimately taste such pleasure.

To Haley, this was all so... new, and unfamiliar—but she enjoyed every second of it. Her thighs tightened around the hand that tantalized her, and she raked her nails along the back of her Knight’s neck. If this was how he teased her with his lips and hand… she could only imagine what other things he could do…

Gathering her courage, she stammered, “W-will... will you use your mouth...? I’ve... I've read that men sometimes do that... and..."

Diarmuid cut off her apprehensive rambling with a firm kiss to her sweet lips, before he pulled away. The idea had crossed his mind to taste her pretty quim, but he’d thought that might have been a step too far... given she hadn’t even been touched like this before. But—hearing the request fall from her nervous, but steady lips... “Would you like that?”

Haley nibbled her lip, then nodded fervently. 

The Knight took his hands from her clothes and eased off her shorts, along with her panties... all the while watching her innocent reactions. With his hands placed at each side, Diarmuid then planted his lips to her clitoris to tongue the outline of her slit. He set aside his overwhelming joy at being able to finally taste her honeyed spot—and his gratitude at having earned her complete trust. He sternly reminded his raging hardness that this was not about him—this was only about pleasuring his Lady until she was limp and dazed beneath him.

Her thighs twitched from his talented maw. Haley gripped the sheets, her core on fire from his skillful perusal. She couldn’t withhold her moan, as those tough hands softly travelled her thighs and lifted her against him.

This reaction—this was what Diarmuid aimed for. Those cute ululations that escaped her lips, the quivering of her frame against his mug… were all too perfect. Diarmuid alternated soft licks with hard suckles, reveling in the taste, smell and sound of her lust and ratcheting arousal. His masculine pride and long-held sexual cockiness swelled as Haley writhed and bucked in response to his talented tongue. 

Even as he felt her heat reach its peak—he gripped her thighs, cradled and held her close to him. He kept teasing her extremities, knowing this, _this_ was what she liked—if her gasps and labored breathing were any indication. 

“Diar… Diarmuid… ah… I-I’ve… a-already…!” Haley gasped, her trembling legs constricting the talented man who still laid between her quivering thighs. The strength of her culmination had hit her like a rocket, leaving her feeling more than a little confused… and dazed..

Blinking, she became aware of dampness seeping from her passion-blinded eyes, as her body yet quaked. A few silent tears rolled down her perspiring cheeks as she struggled to make sense of the unfamiliar sensations and emotions.

Finally relenting, Diarmuid placed her hips gently onto the bed and smeared the remnants of her pleasure off his lips with the back of his hand. “We… should leave this here.” 

Trying to return her mind from the ecstasy, Haley caught her breath and sat up. If she were being fair and honest, she had not wanted to stop. She hadn’t even pleasured _him_ yet, and yet… this was over? 

“H-how come…?” 

He was enraptured—he really was—that she wanted more. And the stiffness yearning to be released from the confines of his knickers would have decided against his declaration: but the Knight wanted to take this steadily… _properly_. In the end, his Lady was still _alive_ and deserved more time to explore such matters. 

“We should take our time, Lady Haley. I do not want you to do nothing of which you’ll regret…” He brushed the back of his knuckles on her warm cheek, “If we do such things again… we can take things further, if you desire it.”

Haley sighed, curled her arms around the neck of her Irishman, and tugged him down into the mattress with her. If that was what he wanted, then there would be no resistance from her. To be honest, the telekinetic was unsure if she was ready… that alone proved his worries, and the last thing she wanted to do was regret anything with this beautiful man. 

“Okay. But—you cuddle with me… that’s an order.”

“Of course,” Diarmuid nabbed the sheets and draped them over their spooning bodies. 

To think—he had entered this Tournament only for the chance at redemption—a way out of his predicament that would soon follow his Spirit. He had put his faith in a single woman who indeed was in over her head—but who cared for him, despite only knowing of his legend. As his blunt-tipped fingers stroked tenderly along her dewy hip and flanks, he marveled at how quickly—how unbelievably—his fate had turned, with his Lady’s arrival. 

Had he been forewarned that her presence would turn his existence upside down... that she would bring him hope, and light, and a renewed faith in the capacity for good to triumph over evil… and over all that, pure faith… pure… _joy_ —he would have laughed himself hoarse, and called the bearer of such news an unmitigated fool. 

Now, he was curled with her bare back pressed against his chest, his arm tucked underneath her slender torso, and left wanting nothing more but to give her _everything_ that he was. He used to think himself unlucky: but for certain, that was wrong.

For if he had not gone through what he had, he never would have met her. _Fallen_ for her. And Hell be damned, he was not going to let her go. Not until the very last moment. Not until Hades came for him. 

And unfortunately—he had a feeling that would occur much sooner than either of them realized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had tried so hard to make this an emotionally gripping chapter. From Diarmuid's internal conflict that he desperately tries to rectify... How hard it is for him to come to grips with how he treats himself in accordance to his past and how to be better about it all. To the self reflection and wishes to be better.
> 
> While adding in the intimate scene. That.. now that is where my wonderful and amazing beta comes in. I could not have made that scene as impacting as it is without her edits, paragraph insertions here and there, and adjustments to the dialogue. Her help to make the sexy bits that, while also keeping the emotional bits on both sides for the charatcers- really has me so appreciative. Thank you valancy!
> 
> I hope this chapter hits the readers as much as I was going for. I really wanted Haley's innocence and inexperience to come through; while she also tries to balance her fears of intimacy due to the tragic past she'd endure with her father. While also trying to move forward from it and experience the moment with the man she came to trust, respect, and have feelings for.
> 
> At the same time: I hope you all can feel Diarmuid's want of moving to a deeper connection with jeez whole also trying to take it at her pace. He wants her to feel satisfied, but also wants to take pride in the pleasure he gives her based on the fact that well, the man has bed plenty women in his time lol but he's trying to also be that gentleman.
> 
> I really really hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! It's officially one of my favorites, as it really shows how deeply these two have intertwined and grown together through the story. Let me know what you think!! I really would love feedback for this chapter!
> 
> And as always, thank you for reading, and see you next week!!


	45. Introspective

The warm air kissed the Assassin’s skin. He drifted through the dim light of the Dome’s outskirts, careful not to catch the eye of the few wandering contestants. His all-black exterior easily allowed him to traverse the area without much attention… he even managed to slip past the Observers that lingered about. 

Naturally, this was Kiritsugu’s preferred style of workmanship. Definitely better than the more forward methods of fighting he had to do during that tournament. Shirou—even in his current state—was a blessing. Had he not been there—Achilles would have been a nightmare. How _did_ that Demi-God die at the hands of a single arrow?

Refocusing his mindset, the apathetic man studied the work before him. The complexity behind this magic was astounding. Clearly, Merlin lived up to his reputation as one of the greatest mages to ever live. _Still_ live, if he recalled correctly. 

That wizard was definitely an anomaly along with the Gods. To realise the root was not the upholding for the souls of the dead was quite the shock for the Assassin. To learn that the afterlife was a mixture of the majority of religions was even more appalling and remarkable. 

Kiritsugu shook his bristly head, not quite wanting to delve into the semantics. Either way, his son had found his way down the river Styx and was here. So he had a duty to protect the boy; the tournament being an outlier of hope that maybe—he had a chance of revival. 

He focused on applying himself to the task before him. There were clear instructions to get it done.. Though the results were quite problematic, that was sure. Emiya could not quite be certain of the goal at hand for doing such a thing, but if that trickster were behind it—it was clearly not something he could trust. 

Kiritisugu’s plan was to give just enough help to make Loki think he was following through with his orders, when in reality, he was using his plot to his advantage. In no way would he truly aid that God. Or any of them, for that matter. They were all revolting in their own way. Frankly, he held the same level of distaste for them that he did for the Heroic Spirits. 

Their methods and delusions were equally as idiotic. The Gods were selfish, fickle beings, yet they referred to themselves as superior. Ludicrous, given the Arena proved they were just as heinous as mankind. Maybe even more so.

It was nearly hopeless. Kiritsugu had succumbed to the idea that he would be sent to Tartarus. Some of the dead called it Hell, but he knew that not to be true. While it shared its similarities: it certainly was not the same place. Although now—this partnership with the loathsome man might be his salvation. An escape, if everything were to go as planned. 

Travelling to his next location, the cold man shuffled quietly into the boat. The hum of the motor took him across the quiet waves of the lake to the very edge. It was here the magic was even stronger. He worked under the glittering sprinkles lined above him, and navigated the Arena for almost the entire evening.

Slinking back into the tower of the dead, Kiristugu’s feet dragged along the carpet. Even the deceased could feel exhaustion... mentally, anyhow. He hated to admit it, but these events had been a struggle.

Not knowing whether or not he would be sent to his true end—unsure of Shirou’s safety—he felt like he was walking on a tightrope, ready to fall at any given minute. The only thing that kept his feet steady was who stood at the end of the line—Shirou.

When the door shut behind him, the Mage Killer had not expected to see the center of his thoughts waiting. The teen had his legs crossed, the greys in his auburn hair lit by the faint light from the nightstand. His golden-brown eyes were heavy with disgust as he tasted the rich crimson in the sack. 

Seeing the kid in that burdened state was appalling. While Kiritsugu was proud of him for fulfilling his goals to become a hero for the woman he loved; it was tragic to see him as a living doll. Even worse to know, that in the end, he did in fact fail at saving his daughter. He would never see her if all went well. Illya was permanently gone. The only good that came from that, was that the Grail was permanently severed…

His hands dug into the deep pockets of his trench coat, pulling the comforting box and lighter from its depths. Bringing that familiar stub to his taste buds, Kiritsugu sat beside his son on the sofa. 

“It has been done,” the empty man flatly announced, blowing the vapour through his steady lips.

Shirou simply nodded, swallowing more of the thick, disgusting metallic liquid. Battling Achilles had really taken its toll on his magical circuits. Replenishing the mana lost proved difficult. If only there were more… _efficient_ ways to fill magical energy. Of course, Sakura was not around to help in that prospect, and certainly food and sleep was _not_ enough. 

A long drawn-out breath as the red-head plunked back along the large cushion. “Think if we win, they could fix this body?” 

His old man shrugged his hunched shoulders. “Probably. I don’t think it would be out of Merlin’s range of abilities.” 

Nose scrunching, Shirou chugged the last of the blood, and sprawled his arms along the sofa’s back. His gaze cast to the ceiling. Winning was not their goal, anyway. Not anymore. There were too many variables that made him question the authenticity. 

It was like the Grail War all over again. Only this time, instead of an omnipotent wish-granting device, it wound up being the Gods (who shouldn't exist themselves) making claims. Becoming a counter guardian made even less sense. Keeping them in line along with correcting the mistake of humanity seemed to be that much less his responsibility. 

Silence stretched across the fogged-up room, before his father’s hoarse voice broke through the clouds of smoke. “I—am proud of you.” 

“Hahhh, ahh, old man don’t go saying stuff like that.” Shirou felt the heat rush to his cheeks, as he almost choked on the thin air. It didn’t help that his father’s terrible smoking habit was clogging the room.

A miniscule upward turn of his lip replaced the usual scowl planted on Kiritsugu’s face. “In a few more weeks, who knows what is going to happen? I think it is okay to tell the truth. You’ve grown into a good kid. Safe to say I have done something right.”

Had he grown into a better person? Shirou tried to process the thought. He aspired to become a Hero, and would have given anything to fulfill his old man’s dream. However, he had to give up part of that image, in order to return Sakura to her right mind. He had given up his ideals—risked lives—to bring her happiness.

Of course, this was not news to Kiritsugu, as the young boy had delved into his experiences some time ago. He felt close to humiliated, since he had given up on his promise to his father... almost like a traitor. 

“You think so…? Even though I abandoned your dreams…” Shirou whispered, the room blinking away as he shut his eyes. 

His father scoffed, dragging the cig’s bud in the ashtray.

“I put too much of my hopes and dreams on to you. I am sorry for that,” Kiritsugu began, empty onyx colored eyes entranced by the detailed carpet beneath his scuffed up dress shoes. “I cannot be prouder—that you took what I have taught you, made it your own, and took care of those important to you. I—” 

It had been a long time since the imperturbable man had felt a sting of water fill his eyelids. Around the kid, all of his barriers shimmered like the diamonds that layered the glittering walls of the Arena. Within that cracking of light was the semblance of joy that he had long lost. 

Explaining his delight in how far the boy had come was a difficult chess piece to move. After all, the child had come across the board Kiritusugu had sworn he lost: especially after succumbing to the curse from Angra and his placement in the Underworld.

And yet the child had come… with his ever-endearing light and promises of a better outcome. An ending worth fighting for, even if meant getting back in the game and manipulating the chess pieces again. It was difficult, knowing full well the pieces he required once again trampled upon his very loved ones.

Only this time, he would not lose his precious component—his last strike of happiness since he lost everything. Shirou was _not_ going to be another Irisviel. 

“I couldn’t be happier with who you've become. You have done more than I ever could have imagined, son. You are the true Hero of Justice.” 

Shirou swallowed the lump in his throat and sat up. He patted the cool back of his father, overwhelmed with emotions he hadn’t witnessed him express since that hellish night years ago. 

At one point in time, he was unaware of what that meant—to be a Hero of Justice. Didn’t even think it was possible, once he laid down his greater ideals to save everyone, switching to just the few that were important to him. Shirou was sure that had meant his father would be disappointed, that he’d chosen to save the few instead of the many. But to hear the opposite...

“Thanks, Dad. Coming from you... that means a lot.” 

Kiritsugu nodded, as his burnished haze caught the warm regard across from him. If the lad could find his own way, sure as hell _he_ could. If that were not possible: the kid would make it out alive regardless of whatever happened to him. 

He could count on it. Kiritsugu was going to fulfill his destiny as a Hero of Justice for Shirou.

So his plan in this dangerous game of theirs was going to work. If not for his, but for the damn kid’s sake. It _had_ to.

———————————

“Alright, alright, simmer down, simmer down.” 

Athena’s open palms patted the air between her and the warriors beneath her. Her Uncle’s Warriors were properly enraged, but even they knew the deal that was concocted between him and Loki. 

“First we allow Loki in this Domain, followed by the Heroic Spirits—but it has gone too far! This tournament has taken the very souls that govern it!” 

“He’s right! Just look at the messes we’ve had to clean up! Forsaken have been acting as if they own the place, like they have this… _right_ to something other than what the powerful three have decided!” 

“And look at what they have done to Trista, one of our best and oldest warriors! It’s unacceptable!”

“Loki is _NOT_ in charge here, and yet we act as if he is!” 

The Greek Goddess sighed heavily at the outbursts of the Observers. In regards to the Underworld, yes, Loki indeed was not Ruler. However, in this very activity he had created, he was. He was given full rights to oversee his tournament as he deemed fit, and that was an order given from Hades himself.

And Athena was not about to step on her Uncle’s toes.

Brushing back the long dress that split at the hip, Athena sat on the ledge. “I hear and empathize with all of your concerns. This arrangement here tonight will hopefully settle any doubts or troubles you may have.”

In the corridors below the castle in the Sacred Market (lit only by candlelight), the Observers had spoken one after the other. Each voice had carried in the room, riddled with anger and angst over the events that had transpired. 

Athena had patiently heard their cries, their anguish over the soldiers lost to the battles of the tournament, and the extra work of controlling the rebellious Forsaken in and outside the Arena. The tremor in their voices had her worrying just the same.

Never had the Greek imagined that outside the Arena, there would be souls revolting… All trying desperately to claw their way out of the Underworld— to find a way to avoid their fate. The very structure of the tournament gave them the opportunity to rise against the few Observers left to watch them.

Stupid of them, honestly. Hades _had_ to have word of the disarray happening outside in Hell’s Lobby (a name in poor taste, she believed, given this was not the Hells of Christianity that bordered here), which meant he could come forward at any time. Did the lost souls really believe they could overthrow the authorities of the Underworld? Or were they making some sort of last stand, before their departure to endless misery?

What was worse was that this had started quite early on. If she remembered correctly, sometime around the end of the first round, they had started rising against them. The Observers were suffering great losses… just what in the world was going on? 

“We should just end this tournament, and take care of what is going on outside, where it is more important! Whatever stupid games Loki and Dolos are playing, we want no part in the damn thing!” 

Athena nodded slowly, head dipping and rising like a bobble head toy in motion. “I hear you, but if the tournament were the main source of this issue, do you think not Hades would come forward? Stop all of this?”

“He wouldn’t, because Hades is not one to go back on his word. Unless Loki goes back on his…” Ozzard stated grimly, looking around at his fellow sullen friends. “This Arena will stand, despite whatever is happening on its outside.” 

Whispers floated about at his words, and Trista flickered her gaze to the Goddess. The Observer knew Ozzard’s word to be true, and clearly the woman up there did, too. It was a frustrating ordeal no matter which way she looked at it. 

It boggled her mind—how the others presented her as a martyr, for their agenda of taking Loki and Dolos out of the equation. Humbled her a bit, but it was of no use. 

“Alright, y'all are snickerin’ like this is up fer discussion. Athena, what exactly is it that ya can do? Anythin’?”

Grateful for the brash woman’s interruption, Athena crossed her left leg over her right, swatches of her light skin peeking from the crack of her dress. “I have kept the Observers in the dark for the purpose of having the Heroic Spirits aid us. Even to the extent that one of the contestants has been on our side—”

“What, the one that Trista spared? The one whose name had been foggy up until recently?” someone blurted; the agitation spreading across Athena’s crinkled eyebrows had Ozzard chuckling.

“No, that particular… _contestant_ is not involved in any way. The one of which I speak is Medea. She has been working wonders on the back scene, and will eventually come forward when the time is right. Aside from that, Cu Chulainn and Achilles are also helping in taking care of the… _issues_ at hand in and outside the tournament.”

“What about that Gilgamesh character, what is he doing?”

Athena sucked her teeth at that one. That… Demi-God was a pain in her rear. The man was disappearing constantly—even outside of Merlin's perceptive eyes. She could only assume he'd been utilizing his own premonitions to anticipate their actions. 

Seriously, why were there so many undisclosed variables around what should just simply be Loki's atrocious entertainment?

"He comes and goes. He bores of the competition every now and then." It was not a lie, but at least it sufficiently answered the question.

Ozzard huffed, his bushy brows crinkling. _Rubbish._ He searched the expressions of his comrades: some held scorns that would pierce the strongest of warriors, while few displayed mild smiles and wrinkled foreheads. 

The Observer contemplated adding in his own two cents. Clearly the niece of Hades was withholding information. _Crucial_ information. That led him to believe there was even more happening than what meets the eye.

A rumble resonated in Ozzard's throat, in keeping with the beaten white knuckles grasped at his sides. Enough of the secrets. He and his team required answers. 

"Enough with the circling! It is **PITIFUL** that a **_Forsaken_ ** Hero and his damn woman have more honor and forthrightness! We demand to know what in the Angels is going on! Starting with why Merlin is keeping tabs on Loki; why Gilgamesh _really_ is disappearing; how we are to handle the outside of this mad game you all are watching; and we **_must_ ** come up with a flipping plan to take care of it all!" Ozzard's voice boomed like a speaker being blared from a microphone. Enough was enough.

Agreeing nods flowed through the river of Observers. Mouths chimed in, threatening to assist the Harpies and send the remaining Forsaken to their fate. They warned they would include Hades to aid in the uprisings on their own, despite the consequences; and show how incapable Athena was at handling any of the works her Uncle had entrusted her with.

Pink lips rolled together, as the nostrils of the Goddess flared for just a second. Her composure was cracking, yet the woman attempted to continue to hold it together. 

That damn Heroic Spirit had come up in conversation yet again, and is purported to possess more honor than her? This scene was laughable—it really was. 

Maybe it was time to invoke the full help of the Observers. She initially only wanted their involvement to be restricted to keeping the Forsaken in line, while she and her… "help" would care for the bigger problems.

Perhaps that was erroneous of her.

With a burdened sigh, she adjusted the hemline of her crop top, and flicked irritably at her hair.

The Observers were the Underworld's newest body-guards—might as well enlist them fully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Sorry for the delay, and that it's a short chapter. Ive been crazy busy with work changes, and other dilemmas irk... But I will probably release the next chapter when its finished instead of making it a week wait since it'll be similar to this one in terms of style 
> 
> Anyway. A little introspective of what's going on outside the tournament and a check in with shirou and kiritsugu. There's some drama going around lalala
> 
> Anyhow thanks for patiently waiting, reading and come thing! Your support gives me so much joy and life. 
> 
> Seriously, thanks you to everyone who is sticking around to see this story unfold <3


	46. Evenings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, not sure if y'all will get the update but I am going to take a break for a few days. I have this awfully painful kink in my neck, a headache that is pounding my skull and I'm so tired. So so tired, from waking up every two hours in either pain or restless sleep/insomnia. 
> 
> I will try to write at least two chapters back to back so I can upload consequtively, but it might not be for a week or two. I'm really sorry.

"Useless fool! What worth is there for a spell if it does not do its job!?"

The vein in Kayneth’s temple popped while his arms trembled. What a hopeless fool this apprentice was. Adranga Lupo… that man was a piece of work. It would have been much more efficient if _he_ were the one appointed as his “Detainer.” 

That Magus had worked his way in the ranks of the Association far faster than most… even while training his daughter in magecraft, and the extremely rare psychic abilities from his dead wife’s side. 

In El-Melloi’s time as a teacher at the Clock Tower, working together with Lupo was a delight. They both shared many of the same philosophies. In fact, if not for the events of that… _utter nuisance_ stealing his artifact of Alexander the Great, he never would have received the replacement (even if it did turn out to be a total waste, given Diarmuid had not been summoned in the Saber Class as intended, and had wrecked all of his remaining plans for victory...).

Now he has been gifted another good-for-nothing piece of scrap. The rune should have immobilized that woman for far longer than it had! Diarmuid should have been accused of magecraft or battles outside the Arena, and disqualified, as her father had wanted. Or at least, the girl rendered unable to participate against the Heroic Spirits: that would have ended the wretch.

But as Kayneth’s cerulean glare transferred out the window, there that libertine was: waltzing back into the Hotel.

What pissed off the Englishman even more, was the nonplussed face Darius held, and the indifferent shrug of his prosaic shoulders.

“That rune was supposed to last at least three days—the fact it didn’t suggests they got help, instead of punishment. Who would've guessed?” Darius surmised, tilting back against the wall. 

“Three days was obviously not enough! You have been nothing but incompetent this entire time! Only on that damn ship—sealing the deal with the assassin from my time—did you do anything noteworthy!” Kayneth fumed, swirling up from his chair. 

The Magus only chuckled. He always found it amusing how the great “Lord El-Melloi” lost his temper. The man did realize his main goal here, didn’t he? 

“You’re funny. I don’t recall you accomplishing what you were supposed to, either. I shouldn’t have to employ a rune at all, but it happened. Plus, you got your precious Mercury—and all that thanks to my true Master. Remember that,” Darius winked, entertained by the emergent blood red blooming all over his “Forsaken’s” face.

“Why you—degenerate! Ingrate!” Spit flying, Kayneth nearly tripped over his forward, threatening step. Who did this… poor excuse for a Mage think he was, speaking to him in such a way? It was more than just disrespectful—it was intolerable!

Did he not realize that without him, Adranga’s precious plan would fall to pieces?! This entire thing was absurd!

Kayneth’s salvation geared toward fulfilling his promise to the old friend of his—yet this person in-between seemed not to give a rat’s ass. Why was he so unfortunate as to continuously be paired with these sorts of aggravating individuals? 

And what was their fascination with the damn Detainer of Diarmuid, anyway? That Haley was nothing but a love-sick woman! Sure, having a telekinetic in the world of magecraft was rare, and her sub-abilities desirable (even _he_ would make great use of mind control abilities— it’d be like having endless command seals) but she appeared a fool, just like the others. 

That comment she’d made had riled him beyond imagination. 

_“Just so you know, even the simplest of mages can resist the Love Spot.”_

That comment had dug its way deep into his core. What was the witch implying? That Sola-Ui could have negated the effects of his former Servant? Preposterous—even if she did. and could: he still seduced her and encouraged her to move into the Grail War. The bastard swore eternal loyalty, but fell to his carnal desires once more—eliciting her help once he failed to protect his Master. 

Yes, that was what _had_ to have happened… In no way would his betrothed have purposefully entered into the Grail War on her own. Right?

 _Ack! The woman must have worked her crafts on me, too! Look at her, making me doubt the very events of the Grail War that I experienced_ **_myself_ ** _! Her and that cretin were meant for each other._

Darius withheld his laughter. Man, the guy made it too easy. “Insult me all you want, but you _need_ me. Remember, I could always forfeit helping you. There are many ways to skin a cat, so they say.” 

Kayneth folded his arms and sucked his teeth. A grin formulated on his lips. “Hah! Is that really what you think? You can’t even properly put a spell on the woman—I can only imagine you going up against the Heroic Spirit protecting her and her own gifts on your own. You need me more, if you both really want to get her.” 

Eyebrows raised, Darius let his bemused grin slant ever so slightly. 

In truth, he was not _entirely_ wrong. Beating the Heroic Spirits was a team effort; but Kayneth carried their battles. If he were to try to obtain the girl on his own—he suspected that the Irishman would take him out in seconds, given his speed. If not him, there was nothing he could do against the telekinetic. 

So the threat of Englishman’s words hung high. 

The blonde licked his lips in interest. What a spectacle it would be if Kayneth were to forego his battle, or attempted to do—well, _anything_ to mess with obtaining the girl. That bounty of hers was quite fruitful: an opportunity he could not pass up. So much so, that he entered the damn Underworld to retrieve the reward.

And to literal hell he would allow Kayneth to trample on that prospect. 

How would Lord Adranga take that? Oh, he would not be pleased in the slightest. The man’s sanity wavered every day. Especially after that revolting phenomenon he mentioned. Somehow, the panel had managed to make a perfect replica of his features and _voice._ That was utterly perplexing. 

And it vexed the man. Turned his control over his daughter into an obsession, made him look like a maniac, he stated indignantly. The latter was… technically true. Not that it was any of Darius’s business. He simply wanted the reward for retrieving the girl and then to be on his way. 

“Whatever you say, Lord Archibald,” was all he offered the bitter man. 

Kayneth smugly nodded his head. It was not the riposte he was aiming for, but the manner of his Detainer’s face gave away what he was thinking. The lowly Magus knew he was right. It was evident—so Kayneth knew he would have his way.

There were so few rounds left. All the Magus needed was the right moment to rid himself for good of that good-for-nothing lecher… Fulfill his damned promise to his old friend, and get himself out of the wretched Underworld for good.

———————————

Medea almost wanted to cry. It was perfect. After several wasteful attempts and the murder of various ingredients: she completed the Katsudon. Souichirou was going to love the Japanese cuisine! The delicacy of deep fried pork cutlet, egg, and some fresh veggies made her own mouth water. 

With only another day to spare before the worthless continuation of that pesky tournament, the Greek Magus aimed to please her lover. She was in fact swimming in Underworld currency, so it made sense to expand her own living quarters and add in some more… tactful appliances, to make their stay more luxurious. 

Now, as the steaming pot settled, and she readied the dishes of her masterpiece of dinner: she was ready to impress such an impassive man. 

Medea hummed a sweet tune, heat rising in her rosy cheeks. She yearned to see the barest smidgen of emotion cross his face. This time, fighting was a gift, given that she would eventually have to return to the Throne (although she hoped the damn thing would take its time repairing itself)... but a smile crossing Kuzuki’s face? That would be a blessing.

Unfurling the knot to the once-white apron now splattered in various colors, she delicately folded the apparel and slid it over the bar of the oven. Carrying her indigo orbs to the man exiting the bathroom, Medea patted her violet lips to hide her mild surprise.

“Master… Souichirou…” 

Now, when Medea had bought the new suit and tie for her beloved for this evening, she knew the dark shades of red underneath the satin black top would be stellar. However, now that he had removed the usual frames he wore (even though he had not needed them in the Underworld) and some of the older lines that curved into his narrow cheekbones had lifted... Kuzuki seemed younger, more vibrant. Even… alive. 

The man even slicked his hair back, no longer the fuzzy downward-do he normally sported. If the two were to arrive at a ball, they’d be the center of attention. It’d be impossible not to gape at the woman’s long, admiral gown. The Greek could not resist the smile that yanked her mouth upwards. 

“Medea, I have refreshed myself as you suggested. Is the food ready for our evening?” Pulling out his seat, the dark eyes of the man analyzed the decorated table.

The Heroic Spirit had put much effort, he realized, into embellishing the glass surface with a quilt she had sewn herself. He remembered relaxing quietly on the king-sized bed, as her elegant fingers had woven the fabric together flawlessly. 

Alongside her creative works sat tupperware that only Nobles would care for. The lights in the hotel room were dimmed, and intricately placed candles lit up the mood. Medea had outdone herself to make this evening romantic.

The Caster removed the clip that kept her hair tucked tightly upward while she readied the table, letting her long, sleek hair fall over her shoulder. 

“Ah… yes… Souichirou-sama… I have... done my best.” Her voice was soft and unsure. Though Medea had put in a great deal of effort to follow the recipe, and trash and start over countless times in order to have what she created look as appetising as the cookbook’s images: there was still lingering doubt in her mind. 

Giving his meal an affirmative nod, Kuzuki gestured for his partner to sit. “Hmm… Caster, knowing you have done your best is enough. Let us eat together.” 

“Of course...!” Overwhelmed from the skipping beats of her heart, Medea sat adjacent at the table. 

Almost in unison, the couple clapped their palms together and hung their heads. “Thank you for the food,” they recited, taking their utensils in hand. 

Taking a bite, but not letting her eyes off the stoic man before her—Medea waited anxiously for any sort of signal... any sort of hint of his enjoyment, or lack thereof, to the meal she prepared. She was practically squirming in her seat, the anticipation eating away at her faster than the food met her man’s lips.

Was that… a twitch of the lip? A crack in his stoic demeanor? 

Souichirou’s usual pale skin illuminated with joy as he sampled every bit of the cuisine before him. Every new bite was as whimsical as the flushed woman’s face; a spark of delicious determination in each sampling. 

“I am so pleased that I have done so well! This is wonderful!” Medea practically sang like the birds on a glorious spring morning. All of her efforts had not gone to waste! Just the hint of a pleased smirk on her impressively inscrutable man was enough to almost bring her to joyous tears.

The night was going so well! Her feast was delectable, the mood was set with her careful setup, and the rich smell of ingredients and perfumes was to die for. Every moment with the one man who appreciated her—who looked at her as if the sun shone in her eyes—was all Medea could ask for... 

...Until a familiar bout of magic interrupted their tranquility. The evening immediately felt tense. _What is she doing here, hours before the next round?_

“I… must apologize, Souichirou-sama… It seems we have a visitor late in the night.” The frown that enveloped her countenance made her writhe with anger. This was supposed to be _their_ night, and now it was ruined.

“It is alright. This has been a wonderful evening. You do as you need, Caster.” Kuzuki fiddled with his fork. “I will eat what is left and rest the magical energy that has been bestowed upon me for tomorrow. Join me in bed when you are finished.”

Puffing up her cheeks with a huff, Medea nodded, patting her lips clean with a napkin. “Very well. It should… not take long.” _It cannot, as I want to enjoy as much time as I can._ With that thought in mind, the Heroic Spirit pushed out from her chair, silverware clanging as she removed herself from the dining area.

Frustratingly enough, there was the Greek Goddess in their living quarters. The robes that clothed her figure tempted the fellow Greek to adjust her… fashion senses. But she left the insult on the tip of her tongue and instead glared in her direction.

"You must show at the worst of times, Athena," Medea grumbled under her breath. The fellow Greek only lifted her sky-blue eyes to meet hers. 

“I am tired.” 

“...” Medea slicked her hair over her ear, letting a few strands slip through the crack of her fingers. Her mouth drew open slightly. Well, this was happening. “We never have quite been on the same side until now, have we?” 

Finding a seat next to the Goddess, Medea straightened her dress and sat down on the couch. Taking in the woman, she understood where the strength of the magic came from. Spells were etched all over the woman’s face, keeping her exhaustion from showing. Immortal or not, even she seemed to suffer the pangs of fatigue.

How strange.

“No, no we have not. Though now… as our interests align, I enlist your help. It is… rather selfish of me.” Athena passed the breath she held for what felt like hours. “But this has become quite difficult. It seems everyone has their own little plots, and it is a struggle to juggle them all. It is a war that has not started, yet it feels as though has been going on for centuries. What do you make of it?”

Medea’s lip wrinkled at the woman’s forwardness. Imperceivable—whatever this thing was that was happening. Was the Great God of War really asking her opinion on the current state of affairs? This really was quite an evening. 

“It is troubling that we cannot track the Demi-God quisquilian. Given my _experiences,_ that can only mean he is up to no good. As for your outside problem,” Medea raised her shoulders impassively, “I say set the dog on them. I’m sure Cerberus would love to taste what goes on inside here.” 

“I cannot just remove Hades’s cherished pet from his post without calling forth attention to my—” Athena started, embarrassment raised in her chest as the Magus waved her off dismissively.

“Oh stop that crack nonsense. What, don’t give me that look!” Medea shook her head at the irritated woman next to her. “I know you were going to say, “failure” or something along that line. But listen—Hades Underworld is not without its issues. Sure, it is rumored to have run well, but it still has had its blunders. Utilize what you have, and Hades would be proud of you for stopping the morons out there from their troubles.” 

“Even so, the Observers—whilst new in terms of their years here—are even threatening,” Athena blurted, regretting the admission immediately. The woman grunted, and ran the tips of her fingers at her temple. “I have rectified their… _issues_ by further including them. But still, it is frustrating.” 

Her laughter burst—Medea couldn’t contain it any longer. What a turn of events. She had sensed something awry with the Gladiators. Now there was an answer to that strange phenomenon. “Oh Goddess, might you have had them aid you sooner, then might these… troubles have been lessened.” 

Why was Athena here? She definitely did not arrive to be made a mockery of, nor to be laughed at. “Watch yourself,” she said, sending a glare Medea’s way that would tear even the strongest of Gods to shreds.

Catching her breath from her hysterics, the Magus only smirked in the Goddess’s direction, “Oh forgive me, it is just so amusing. Despite it all, even _you_ make mistakes. Might as well own them, no?” 

Exasperated, Athena merely rolled her eyes. 

“Well, here are my final thoughts and advice: After coming close to defeat—as a Heroic Spirit no less—I must say the Observers will be of great assistance, but for _battle._ Their wit is there, surely, but given everything going on in the background: they are too apparent to those involved. Gilgamesh won’t do anything with them near, and Loki certainly not. So send them with the dog outside the barrier. You do that, and they can resolve the issues outside. Leave enough here—as there are so few contestants left to do battle in this tournament—and everyone is happy.”

Medea nodded her head in approval of her words. That plan was reliable enough, and did just what the woman wanted. Everyone wins, in that regard.

Contemplating her words, Athena clicked her tongue. It was not a terrible plan. If she had the Observers take proper care of the outside, then she could focus more on the internal conflicts coming around… which begged the question…

“What do… _you_ think Loki is after? I cannot seem to grasp it. He is definitely entertained by this whole… “Arena”, but I feel he is after _more._ But really, what can come of this entertainment? I have deciphered Norse text and spells, and he is using none of them to piece together in any way. And Merlin is of no use, of course. He seems to have run his cause of work, and is simply maintaining some sort of balance, as of now.” 

The goddess chose to leave out how the Incubus had been throwing his help towards one of her competitors. She had promised the witch her lover—so long as she played by Loki’s rules—to lead him to believe her only in it for the man at hand. 

Medea, Athena believed, was powerful enough to take those two down, anyway. 

Elfin ears twitching, Medea thought on that one. Loki was a mystery, even to her. His magic was nearly rivaling, and frankly... he was a pain in the ass. 

“I do not know. What I have gathered is that he has not done a thing. Just as you utilize me—I fear he is doing the same. He has been untraceable for… nasty behavior. I cannot imagine that to be a good thing.” 

Well, they both had agreed on something, if that meant a damn thing at all. Loki having a pawn… the fact the very thought hadn’t even crossed her mind, frustrated the Goddess beyond what her thoughts could bear. But who? Who would be so vacuous to pair themselves with the trickster God? 

Catching her beloved’s grim, expressive eyes, Medea stood. That was enough chit-chat—this was a pleasant evening she was trying to enjoy, with a lovely man waiting for her. “If that is to be all, I would like to return to my peaceful night.” The magus almost added a “shoo”, but felt the flapping of her fingers sufficed.

“Hmm..” A slight chuckle, before Athena nodded. “Enjoy your evening.” She hesitated for a brief moment, the words at the edge of her tongue almost rolling back. Instead, she let them fall over the edge. “And thank you.” 

Medea blinked, and the Goddess was gone. A smile? Did the woman possess the power to create one in such a simplistic way? Medea had thought not—the woman was known for her strength and impassiveness, after all. What on earth…

“Medea, are you to stay true to those words to join me?” Kuzuki’s placid voice returned the Greek to her senses as she spun on her toes.

“Ah, of course, Souichirou-sama! I am coming!” 

The grandest of smiles drew itself on Medea’s lips as she practically danced back to her lover. 

———————————

“Still nice and cool,” Haley said, with Diarmuid’s palms resting gently in hers. 

“And how are you fairing? Given our… intimacy the other day—any changes to your strength?” Diarmuid worriedly enquired. It was not so long ago that she had been suffering from negative effects after their coming together. 

Haley giggled—he was such a worry-wart. “All fine! Don’t feel a hint of sleepiness, or weakness!” 

Face softening, the Knight brought her lips to his. Since that affair, his Lady had been quite chipper. He already believed her to be brighter than the sun, but now she seemed to excel with that vividness. Was something that simple really enough to have her shine so? 

Well, it mattered not. For him, just pulling away from their lip-lock was enough to dampen his own spirits. 

It simply felt so wonderful, to be able to express himself in any such way since those many years ago. What made it more fantastic—magical even—was that the woman had _true_ emotions for him. There was no lovespot nonsense to stain her affection. No trance-like stare, or obsessive compulsion to be with him.

The woman before him cared and shared herself out of genuine interest. It was a luxury he would swim in for as long as possible. It could not be helped that the woman was so captivating, anyhow. Her energy was easily transferable, and her heart as pure as her love. To say her inviting personality didn’t sway him was an understatement.

Was _he_ the one under a spell? Diarmuid could only laugh internally. He was caught by the magic of… infatuation, and it felt so wonderful. If this were a sweet dream, he wished not to be awoken. He had everything he wished for since his summoning in the Grail war. All in a single woman: trust, loyalty, and a noble person to attain glory at his side. 

Truly, he was happy. 

“Well,” Haley started, adjusting the laces of her cleats and brushing the strand of hair from his nose back into her Knight’s locks. “Ready to go?” 

At her partner’s nod, the telekinetic linked her fingers with his. Really, she did not want to go. If she could halt time in the boundless area of the Underworld to spend it with Diarmuid, she would. Reality set in every time the watch dinged for the gathering of the participants; a realization that they were fighting for these moments, for an opportunity to be with each other.

Dead or not—the man who stood by her side, who followed her down the path to the Dome of battles and torment—was a vision of her dreams brought to reality. The stories she devoured as a little girl, existed in him, and were more than anything she could have imagined.

As they now stood together at the Dome’s entrance... it all sank in deeply.

Eventually—Diarmuid would be gone forever, in one way or another. And after this round, Haley had to figure out a way to save him. The answers were in that Library she visited and vacated before... and if not: there had to be a resolution somewhere.

And she was going to find it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda feel the chapter just kinda ends let say buuuuut. We're getting back into the tournament stuff... I feel the rest of the set up is done and well now it's for everything to unravel and come together. 
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed seeing what's unraveling for some of the other contestants! Which team are y'all rooting for?? Diarmuid and haley? Medea and souichirou? Kiritsugu and shirou? Definitely not Kayneth who likes Kayneth!? Lol 
> 
> And look forward to seeing y'all in the next chapter! It's gonna be a fun one to write :D
> 
> Also, "quisquilian" is a greek slur for, "useless" or "trash"


	47. Teamwork

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might have Heaven's Feel 3 Spoilers. A previous chapter had one too, I realize, and I feel bad for not doing this there, too. I know Heavens Feel is in the tags, but just in case. Figured Id put a little Spoiler Warning. Good news is, it's not that big a spoiler, and I feel yall are reading this knowing Heavens Feel anyway. But if there are any questions, let me know. Anyway,
> 
> Enjoy!

The cracks of daylight illuminated the alleyways—and a partial bit of Kiritsugu's eye-wateringly bright jumpsuit. If the mystical sun's rise did not light his charcoal eyes, the reflection this thing put off certainly did. 

The Magus Salyer peered over his shoulder, as prospects for the Tournament journeyed their way to the Dome. Secluded he was: if any were to turn the corner, he'd stand out like a sore thumb. Why did the troublesome God leave a message to meet here, of all times?

At least the boy would not be fully involved, should anything come to fruition with the travelers. He had left before him; an early bird, that kid was. Always up at the crack of dawn... and having some sort of extravagant meal prepared. If Kiritsugu knew any better—he'd consider Shirou a housewife.

A smirk was due for that exuberant image.

"Ah—sorry to have kept you waiting." A vibration in the air manifested into a rat that scurried along the wall at his side.

"Do you… have to take such a ridiculous form?" Kiritsugu remonstrated, his eyebrow twitching at the… furry God.

"It's best for secrecy. Any commoner that would find us would assume you a loon for conversing with a rodent," Loki brooded, the twitch in the man's brown a source of entertainment. "This round shall split you lot into teams. It's already been generated that you're with the swains."

Clicking his tongue and adjusting the sleeves of his jumper, Kiritsugu kept his gaze to the concrete below his boots, "Alright, that's doable. I can—"

The fuzzy vermin scurried down the wall to the floor and latched onto the tip of his shoes. "No, this event will not require your special skills. Unless you can manage to spark a reaction, but I’m not sure if you can—since you have failed to do so in the interviews."

Blustered, Kiritsugu leaned forward and shook his shoe clear of the illusion. He'd figured Loki wasn't truly there. Just like his brain. Had he not been properly keeping a close eye on the two?

After being cursed by Angra Mainyu, he was even more keen on (and sensitive to) the dark magic. Whatever attached to the former Heroic Spirit was far less potent at that time. Even less now, if he were paying any attention. Since he was to be accompanied by those two anyway, it warranted a closer look.

"Well, what will you have me do, then?" The Magus killer spoke flatly, feigning interest in the God's plan.

"Survive the round. I of course will make the situation beneficial for you where I can. Allow me to give you some special details…"

————————————

It was like a dip into the past—The Arena transformed into a gigantic coliseum. Were they teleported to ancient Rome? Haley doubted that exhibition, but she digressed: the rich browns in the sandy dirt with the walls’ barred-off entrances left her weary. What kind of beasts did they have locked away in there?

The rules on the other hand were much simpler. _Survive the manic monsters with the artillery at hand._ Haley was given the armor she had purchased before—what, the third round? She had almost forgotten she had even done so. There was also the instruction to carry one of their conquered keys. She wondered what special purpose it would serve this time… especially since they had.. Two left after this one, for use?

There was also that part of her that struggled with knowing Diarmuid kept on the dog-tag necklace. He mentioned there was a black, protective sleeve over the chain to keep it from snapping. At least that magical barrier could keep it safe. And of course, the Irishman found himself in that wispy jumper she would happily burn—if not for how scrumptious his abs and pecs appeared in the tightened rags.

The Psychic averted her eyes when she realized her stare was a tad intense and focused heavily on his buttocks.

Now, Haley was never the type to be… _promiscuous_ but she could not help but appreciate the figure of her Heroic Spirit. She only wanted to take in everything that he was, especially since the announcement that this final battle royale was intended to thin out their numbers.

Which led her to believe that there was going to be much more to this than what meets the eye. Wasn't that always the case in these gladiator fights, anyhow? Pressing her back against her Knight's, Haley surveyed the open field. They were separated into colored factions. She, Kiritsugu, his kid, and Diarmuid were the blue team.

She swallowed at that prospect. The last time they had been on the same team: the Magus Slayer had almost gotten them killed—had brought herself straight to the… boyfriend, husband? _Whomever_ , of the spell caster Medea. The others surrounding her gave her a nod when her eyes fell upon them, while some merely disregarded her analyzing stares.

"My Lady, I want you to remain by my side this entire incursion," Diarmuid declared resolutely. He remained restless. There were similar things like this in Ireland during his time, though they were not as… extravagant.

The Forsaken were exposed, with no protection aside from their… teammates. Though the risks were not as great as the Roman Colosseum Gladiator battles, an attack from all sides from the fiends of the Underworld unsettled him to no end.

 _Ding, ding._ Diarmuid's hand folded into his Lady's, as the numbers shimmering above them counted down from 10. Though his face remained clear as mud—and whether the organ actually beat, or not—his heart blared in his chest. Anticipation for another round to fight. Concern for his woman's safety behind him; and the complacent thought that his Lady proved she could hold her own... So they shall take this round, united.

With Moralltach strapped to his midriff, and Gae Dearg pulsing for its next taste of battle, the bells tolled as the Arena bellowed.

————————————

Locking eyes with the boy—guarded by metal plates, shin guards and arm plates—Kiritsugu snatched the small sword the kid materialized in one hand, shotgun loaded in the other. He took aim, the Arena thundering with roars of all sorts of estranged beasts.

"No… these are chimeras—" Hissing, Kiritsugu knew what that meant. Aside from what he had strategically placed around the Arena: his weapons were of no use here.

As the crashing wave of malformed varmints raged about the contestants in a strangely uniformed attack, Emiya was fully aware he would have to rely on the pair close behind him for the bulk of this ring. In his peripherals, he witnessed the former Heroic Spirit crushing roaring quadrupeds with his blood-red spear and sword. The girl, on the other hand…

She remained tightly in sync with the man. She hurtled the plummeting creatures back towards the competition, where their fangs found blood and decorated the Arena. Whatever she had missed, Diarmuid made up for as a perfect shield and sword.

Kiritsugu nearly snickered, but the sound of hooves charging in his direction caught his supernatural ears.

The burgundy demonic horse (with eyes the sharpest red he'd ever seen) commanded the stage with speed and force, kicking up the dirt in a frenzy. Its head had two massively curved golden horns that were lowered as it charged forward like a raging bull.

Shotgun aimed, and fired: it grazed the massive navy chest, but the distance began to close. The gaping hole in its chest did little to slow it down, and the magical hum in Shirou's hands caught his eye.

"Trace... on," Shirou said just above a whisper, and into his ready palms came forward the axe-sword that had saved his and Ilya's hides.

The first transition to his victory that would lead to many on those fateful days.

It was a heavy, large weapon made of ashen stone—the long and curved deadly blade almost the same size as him. Recreating the massive thing weighed his arms downward like an anchor: but though they quivered, he still swung.

Shirou felt like he was swinging a badminton racquet at a bowling ball—if not for the base of the hardware being made of the most rigid stone. When his blade plummeted into the horse's solid chest, it should have fractured on impact. Luckily it performed the alternative and drenched the soil with its blood.

Letting out an ear-splitting, raucous cry, the stallion retreated seconds before circling the lot of prospects. The gaping aperture trailed its movement as a woman charged, sword at the ready.

"Something… is not right," Diarmuid breathed, after dispelling a final fiend. Aside from his strikes being notably less powerful than before (hell, almost human, even): these monsters were too intelligent. They attacked in unified form, and now this Emperorcorn (that had had its ribs punctured) almost seemed to be challenging them.

That was not usual protocol for a beast that was down for the count. In the Knight's past fights and hunts—most prey in that state would charge onward or flee… not wait for the opponent to come for it at full force.

As if it were listening to his very thoughts—the creature bucked onto its hind legs. The sound it emitted traversed the stadium to be joined in an unnerving symphony of fellow whinnies. A moment later, the sword-wielding woman was trampled from a barrage of bicorns that exited from newly rising bars.

Without a second thought, Diarmuid scooped his lady into his arms and leaped to the center of their combat stage—barely missing the headbutt of the sapphire colored horse's horns by a whisker. This scene felt all too familiar: it was like their punishment game, though this time there was one large horse commanding the rest of the smaller, discolored versions of itself.

Mouth gaping, Haley clung to her Knight as he sidestepped the swarm. There was no time to breathe, no spare moment for words. From each side the increasing numbers of horses stampeded onward, Moralltach's crimson blade catching the head-tusks with a loud ring that reverberated along her Knight's arm.

Dirt kicked up from Diarmuid's ankles. It swirled in a cloud that blurred his vision, costing him crucial reaction time. The smog cleared in a blast as the bicorn ruptured his torso clean open.

The Irishman's wail was muffled by the taste of soil and what felt like lightning riveting deep into his back. "Ah….this—!"

Haley suppressed her distress for Diarmuid. While his weight bore down on her lungs, the haze of earth dissipated as she launched the horse as far as her mind would allow.

Diarmuid's voice hitched in his throat. "My Lady… the wounds… they're…"

"Don't worry… I've got you," Haley consoled, snaking her arm around his waist, her magic coming to life. She meant to mend the newly formed gashes until wind blasted her hair and her vision caught the ceiling. "Diar—!"

"No time!" The Knight cried, parrying the hooves that almost drilled them ten feet under.

Sluggish, that was how Diarmuid would describe his movements. Every strike he made, every block he mustered with his spear or sword was as if he'd just gotten back into battle after years of retirement. Even with his Lady's assistance, his usual hardened instincts dragged alongside his body.

"Hey, watch your side!" The kid's warning sounded seconds before the steed struck. The sound of the weapon that prick Magus Slayer used thundered in Diarmuid’s ears. To be in his debt was nothing of which the Knight wanted to entertain: but alas, he just safeguarded his life.

Slipping off Diarmuid's side, Haley sent healing his way and called a thank you to her… teammates—though her worry hit deep. Something was clearly wrong with Diarmuid, and it was beginning to wear them down. The worst part of it all was there was no break in between to figure it out. Every inhale and exhale she made brought forth another monster; and if not for the armor protecting her, she'd have been a goner when that demonic horse slammed into them.

Endless arrays of them, with the larger stallion at the center of it all—how could they take them all down? _Think_ , she had to think. Moralltach's special ability is considered anti-unit… so it's more-so single based combat. But nothing says that it can't be used repetitively. They would just need…

Haley's attention drifted to the Assassin and his son. They needed to work together. While yes—up until this time they had been slaying the beasts together and casually drifting to help the other—now, full cooperation was necessary. Trusting them though was going to be such a pain, but their survival depended on it… especially with whatever was going on with Diarmuid.

"Hey, Emiyas! Can you provide cover!?" Haley shouted, hoping her voice would carry among the destruction around them.

Those dreary, blank, dark eyes shifted to her for mere seconds before he shot down another horse. 

"Come on! If Diarmuid can unleash his sword's power, with your backup we can get rid of them all in one shot!" And if she recalled correctly, "secure them absolute victory," as the legends foretold.

Diarmuid looked to his Lady with worry. Instilling the help of that man would only lead them down to a path of strife. It was unfortunate that he actually agreed with her idea. If he could continuously strike them down with more force than what he currently was putting out, then maybe they would finish the round.

"Old man, they're right. We gotta work as a team or we aren't leaving this Arena." Shirou gave his father a scolding look, seeing the retort before it even left the man's lips; he shoved the man behind him, directing his weaponry at the monsters that aimed for the couple and gave them a nod.

"Okay… Diarmuid…" Haley tapped his bicep with the back of her fist and took a step back as she readied to assist him, "Let's do our thing."

A thing… was it? They had.. a thing. Diarmuid happily laughed internally at the thought, but there was something more important to do than get lost in the beautiful thing that was… _Ha… our thing_.

Taking two steps back (with the most delirious grin that spread like butter across his features), he felt mana channel through his veins. A question simmered in the pool of his thoughts at the strange sensation, but drowned it out. Power spread to his cherished weapon and his knees sprung him high above the stadium.

"Moralltach…!"

What the hell… Shaky hands ran through Haley's hair as her vision fogged—then cleared, just as quickly. She would have missed the spectacle entirely, if not for her hold on the creatures that fell through along with it.

Pinching shut her left eye, Haley eased her mental grip on the monsters of the Arena and focused on the strange sensation tingling in her nerves. Little internal sparks trickled down from her temples to her arms and continued to descend as far as her crinkling toes. "Seriously, what the…"

A pat on her shoulder snapped her head to her left.

"He did it," Shirou said with relief. Even the other enemies surrounding them seemed to share in the same resolution of tension.

Why couldn't it last? Couldn't the Heroic Spirit doing heroic deeds by traversing the demonic monsters one by one be the end of it? Shirou was sick of the tasteless ways the panel went about things. Everything he knew about some of them felt like lies.

Because the darn stadium walls—that emptied its contents like the blasphemous, corrupted Holy Grail—could only make this situation so much worse.

———————————

This was absurd. Kiritsugu was prepared for demons, and traps, but for literal God's sakes...

Loki had mentioned he'd make the round easy for him to win… but what made matters worse, (you know, besides the waterfall that threatened to drown them in their own, melted skin) was the irritating couple. Pairing him with these two seemed… malicious. Whatever the case may be, he had to put to use the woman's mind tricks alongside his son's magic—as his skillset was entirely useless, here.

That troublesome God. Kiritsugu almost hissed the thought aloud. He called his advice helpful? "Tch, ridiculous."

A cascade spilled from the two side-by-side crevices carved into the Coliseum's stands. It showered the playing field with aggravated fury; and mercilessly grilled the contestants with the sheer force of its raging, magma-like heat.

Watches thrummed to life, informing contestants of their options to stop the overflow from liquidizing them. Participants dashed to special indents and marked areas of the ground. Was it a puzzle? A man gingerly stepped ahead, instantly regretting the spikes that impaled him.

Diarmuid watched the scattered bouts of contenders who either successfully guessed the tricks underneath them, or slowed the muck that threatened them... while others found injured body parts and sped up the liquid rush. The heat that emitted from what speedily inched closer wracked his sensorium.

He traded looks with his teammates—it was unanimous (without a word being exchanged) that remaining in place was the safest bet for their survival, instead of chancing themselves against the traps.

Immediately after, Haley's palms shot straight up before her. The intense flood of heat snapped in places, all the while spattering the zone with a ferocity of embers that threatened to flame high if someone so much as breathed. Her eyebrows scrunched and her footing adjusted to the gravity that pulled her mind to the edge of the obsidian.

She had to focus her attention strictly on the overflowing faucet… only…

The shrills and shrieks that surrounded the woman tormented her ears. Now, there were not anywhere near as many pairs left, and those who remained were powerful in their own right—but the issue that had been pestering her conscience was how less likely their winning seemed to be. They had Merlin supposedly on their side, while the rest… the few that remained had the Arena burning their bodies to char.

Her teeth gritted. _I can't be thinking about any of that. Diarmuid is the only person I'm here to worry for._ She tried to convince herself, yet… she braved a glance towards the few, cursing herself for her soft heart, her stupid ideas, and stupid conscience— all of which rattled her bones.

This was a competition… they were to end these souls in one way or another. Hell, they _had_. Diarmuid saved her from a madman, taking the brother away from a woman whose name she didn't even know. However inadvertently, she was unable to keep the romantic pair alive… and hell, that round on the ship had her Knight skewering enemies left and right… Did what she did to Souichirou and Medea count, too?

But this felt all too different. The Damned in this part of the Underworld were already set for an eternity of pain, so this was just mind numbingly cruel. They had living people paired with them. Her heart sank to her ankles—thinking if it were Diarmuid in their place... his replicated body and nerves would be boiling hotter than a steam engine and oozing off his bones.

The woman cringed at the gruesome image.

Though she knew these were in fact her enemies—she would at least bestow them a courtesy. The only rules this round were to work together with your teammates, and keep them safe. How terrible would it be to defy the Arena's sickening entertainment by helping her team... all the while ending some madness? This wouldn't be her first time doing such a thing, anyway.

So with a heavy, swallowing breath, the air locked tightly in her lungs: Haley swiveled. Holding the increasing pressure was useless, anyway. Something would give— either her mind or the waterfall of lava—so it was sink or swim. Having mapped the ring that was their battlefield and spied the gutters that slurped the Titian fluid.

Agitating as it was, her hands swayed left, repeatedly guiding the overflow through the channels and walkways of the walls around them.

"This is painful…! It won't end!" she cried out. The river refused to stop, and she figured not a soul had a clue where the medium ended. "Anybody got some kind of plan!?"

The woman's cry was a pitiful screech—but damn it all, she was not to be their saving grace, it seemed. Kiritsugu felt next to useless, as he scanned the small lot of fighters left. Figuring out the puzzle felt like the only answer to their dilemma, but how much time did they have? Last the Assassin recalled, the woman faints when overusing her psychic abilities—and from the look of the sweat beading at her brow, her labored breathing and shaky figure—that time neared.

"Old man, Diarmuid, Haley, I have an idea," Shirou started coolly, taking one cautious look at the pitch black darkness of his father's eyes before continuing. "I have a weapon." He felt the criticizing haze from his father but carried on, "I just need some extra speed and my dad canno-…"

"Say no more, I shall assist you," Shirou caught the Irish Knight's half-hearted glance at Kiritsugu, before he held his auburn stare. "What are we to do?"

Taking a final look at his father, Shirou swallowed.

Per Loki's reticent suggestion on ways to take the round in another direction, he figured a plan. Of course, Shirou thought that to be suspicious, but now he could confirm the Norse God was just like Kotomine… Using them to achieve a goal, guiding them in the path he needed for the chips to fall. Well, he was going to do the same thing. "Haley has enhancement magic, right? Use that to quickly get me up and toss me right to the fire's pit. I'll do the rest from there."

"Boy, that is—" Kiritsugu began but was cut off by the determination lighting up the orange-tops's hard glare. He turned to the Forsaken Knight instead. "Don't you—"

"Enough of that," Diarmuid waved off the man and slouched for the boy. Time was not to be wasted. They had a plan and needed to act. "I am not you: for I will not harm the boy when it is all done."

"You guys are cool and all, but my head—this is really killing me!" Haley shouted. It didn't seem anyone in the Arena had anything better to fix this ordeal, so if that Emiya kid had a plan, they had better run with it.

"Dad, I will telepathically tell you when to have Haley intervene!" Hastily, Shirou hopped onto the crouched Diarmuid's back. He could feel the nerves in his strange body tingling, and he wondered just how long he could really last.

Nevertheless—as the scorching wind scraped past his cheeks and magic was infusing the man underneath him—Shirou chanted, "I am the bone of my sword." This moment was going to give away his abilities that he kept tucked away from the tournament. They were going to be on display for all that were left to see. "Steel is my body," falling right into Loki's stupid trap but if not, he would have to say goodbye to Kiritsugu, farewell to his Hero—and that, well, was too valuable to care who now saw.

"Rho, Aias!"

Every magical circuit within his doll-body flared with scorching heat, that almost matched the torrent blazing in front of them. But from the depths of the pain, birthed six orchid petals that whirled and bloomed.

_Father, have Haley do it now! Hold Diarmuid in place and let the stream fall!_

_So—that was my son's plan._ Yes, it would work in accordance with Loki's insight. Unfortunate as it was, this would be enough. "Girl, release the wave and keep your Forsaken in his place."

Haley snickered with irk; she'd rip the man apart for calling Diarmuid that another time. Ordering her to aid Diarmuid was stupid. Had he not seen the subtle smirk on her Knight's face and the light nod he had given her before they had left? Probably not—he was likely too busy conspiring against them. Thus, in this case—of course she had been contributing to her partner's movement.

The lava (on the other hand) was released into the glory that was the Shirou kid's shield. Never had Haley witnessed something so beautiful.

Appearing before what the telekinetic would think was a lily—was a six ringed shield. All around it spun magical energy that sent shockwaves across the distance of the Arena. It rippled with energy as the two backwashes spilled over the edges.

 _Tell Haley to push us towards it!_ Kiritsugu heard the blaring command once again and relayed the order. What could Shirou possibly— "Ah, I see."

The girl—no, the _woman_ —did just as she was told. The Magus slayer allowed himself to be impressed that she could actually withstand the force of magic colliding, while effectively shoving both the boy and the former Heroic Spirit forward. They were seconds away from sealing those holes—

Wait.

No.

"Woman?! Can you withstand the pressure!?" Worry flashed as she buckled to her knees. He should have planned for this. Kiritsugu knew the woman was known for collapsing, and this was no exception.

He was stupid for putting all of his ducks in one basket. Even more stupid for the miscalculated steps he took forward.

The tremor that followed widened the once emotionless, obsidian eyes. His boot sank into the pavement—it crumbled, like all his sanity.

"DIARMUID!!"

That woman's cry only emphasized Emiya's horror as he braved his view upward.

The gates closed, cutting off the splurge, along with other vaults that opened on the opposite side of the Coliseum. Shirou's trojan shield dissipated—shattered like glass. Weaponry then shot at the pair caught in the crossfire. The fiasco of flashing bright, golden light had struck the memory of the fourth Grail War. Only this time, the target was Diarmuid, not that crazy smoky mess that was Berserker.

And each weapon imprinted on its target, much unlike the latter—striking into his flanks as the fallen Knight turned mid-air. Maybe from the girl's telekinetic manipulation or maybe out of his own will to shield the boy; Kiritsugu did not know. What he did know, was that while the woman attempted to drag the two back towards them, the trajectory shifted. Followed them like the open targets they were. And he had to act fast.

Blast it, was this part of that Loki's plan!? Seemed as though he and Shirou were putting all of their cards on the table. The Assassin surmised this was perfect for Loki. It would force him and Shirou to be dependent on his grimy hands for help. To hell with that. Loki had no idea the plan he had formulated, and he will not be exploited by the damn man.

"Time-alter… triple excel!!" There was no beat of his heart; no blood pumping in his veins, no worries of capillaries bursting—and this, _this_ was the time to take advantage of his dead state.

Time blurred and all fell dark. The granted triple speed from the maneuver allowed him to spring and close the distance between himself and his targets. He dragged the stalled bodies downward out of the frozen interval. Part of Kiritsugu wished he could have left the Heroic Spirit in the air to be slaughtered, one less opponent to worry for... but rules, and all that.

However, when the duration of time blinked back into existence, the Arena's interval's striking back to the present—the ground underneath them all gave way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I am sorry this chapter two weeks to produce. I've... been going through a lot this past month. So this might be a little bit of a vent but... I am. Exhausted. For months now, my sleep has gotten proactively worse. I have to have a machine hooked up and I'm so uncomfortable I wake up from that. So... I don't sleep. At all. Couple that with being a full time worker, an autistic child that is... hitting his teachers, spitting at people (in the middle of a PAN-FUCKING-DEMIC no less) screaming the works to the point our babysitter (who's family by the by) doesn't even want to watch him. My bf tries to be supportive but I can't stop ripping his throat out for stupid shit that eventually he's gonna sick of my stupid attitude. Anyway, the point of me putting this in the notes is to just apologize to anyone waiting for the chapters. I might be a little bit slower with them, while I attempt to breathe but some might come faster than others, too because.... 
> 
> I love this story. It's one of my most well thought out, and hell best planned out stories I have ever put on paper. This novel-like fanfiction has improved my writing, my imagery, given me a cool new friendship with my beta, and has had hours even days of passion put in to it. And man when the ending comes, Idk what I'ma do. But I hope everyone enjoys this as much as I do. I hope that anyone reading cannot wait to see how the rest of the story unfolds! I also hope this chapter doesnt seem too boring... and the characters are balanced well.
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> Everyone have a good day, holidays, etc and I will see you with another chapter soon! :)


	48. Teammates

It was like a war scene as the bombs entangled in the coliseum's flooring simultaneously detonated. Severed limbs decorated the blasts that coated the Arena in a thick, drifting smog. Underneath the fog the remainder of contestants fell… Down a tunnel that seemed limitless in its crepuscularity.

Though for Diarmuid, the most horrific part of the rapidly fluctuating Arena events was the hand he just missed to grasp: the fingertips just within reach that coincided with the panic-stricken visage as some magical force dragged her away... Swallowed his Lady into a catastrophic hole along with the Assassin's boy, whose face probably looked as aghast as hers.

Was this the turn of the tables he’d feared? It felt like negative ranked E luck, a ghost of a letter in the form of a little line that shouldn't exist.  _ Didn't  _ exist, in the rankings of the Grail war. But he felt it.

Felt it—as chasmic as the chains drilling a route to his intestines that he really,  _ really _ didn't want to regard for yet a  _ third _ time. This pitfall clearly would ignore his wishes, so he forbade himself to peek at the outcry that was his midsection. Alternatively, his perspective flew upward to the aperture sealing the remaining sense of light… of what he hoped and had to ensure was not the last thing he'd see.

Diarmuid's hands gripped the reins and essayed the steel eating away at him, in a stupid, futile attempt to break them. In his prime—or maybe in that Heroic Spirit form—these things would be easy to snap, no? Were they… the same as the cuffs? Enchanted with some sort of blessing to infuse this form of himself with a scorching pain?

No, they were the standard material. He was just perpetually weaker; he damned well told himself he would not take a shot at his innards rolling free of the prison that was his body—but he had to.

"Frig.." the Knight casually closed his eyes. Hoisted upward around the gut and old wounds… that's why his body was internally aflame. He kind of wished this underworld's body didn't replicate painful nerve endings.

It all made little sense. Diarmuid had presumed he was fully healed from that precarious punishment game. The groove on his torso said otherwise… it grinned at him in the most vile ways he had ever seen. Could the dead feel nauseated? Would he hurl whatever food he'd consumed (that converted to magical energy) onto the ground a few feet from him? Would it be magic he'd spew all over Kiritsugu…? Wait.. 

Kiritsugu.

——————————

"Mmmpphh…" Who was knocking… ? No, no one was knocking. It was just the sound Haley's mind made when she overworked herself.

_ Thump. Thump. Thump.  _ It was relentless, and the woman wanted nothing more than to turn off all her senses and sleep for an eternity… though that felt insensitive, given the circumstances. So she willed her eyes open—forced them, actually.

In truth, Haley was forcing her entire body to connect to her mind to perform the simplest of movements. Was the orchestration of drums beating against her skull just from overuse of her abilities? The Psychic tried… tried  _ desperately  _ to have her fuzzy vision come into focus; it was like trying to get an old antenna to properly display the stupid, dingy channel.

And then it all came clear on the screen with the bunny ears in just the right position.

Crap.  _ Crapcrapcrapcrap!  _ The Arena had freggin’ exploded. Traps—there were pitfall traps and explosives that miraculously went off right when they were to seal off that flood of magma. Kiritsugu did… some sort of magecraft and rescued Shirou from the sky when her mental strength couldn't handle much anymore. When she used her enhancement magic to rescue Diarmuid and that kid from the circus of their performance in the sky—she had just missed her Knight's grasp before something…  _ went out _ . Literally and figuratively.

Before Haley knew it, the weird tingling in her blood fizzed out and all she could see was Diarmuid, falling into a pit of what she could only assume was despair—and her and Shirou's metals smacking against each other in their own slide down into blackness.

The rest was hazy, like the random fog that fell over the Arena—and her damn eyesight. So the telekinetic utilised her other senses, feeling atop her head and body and—

Maybe she was just in sensory overload but… she was certain that was a gigantic gash on her brow. The crinkly feeling in her fingers meant they were broken, and the numbness in her leg indicated that there was some sort of nerve damage. "Oh that's… no good…" No worries, she could heal—

If before it felt like sparks were snapping in her veins—now it was full-on fireworks. A show of grand high explosives going off in every circuit of her body. That… how, why? She  _ never _ had this kind of problem with her mana before. She never overused her magical energy, not even when it was as immense as healing curses…

"So why…" Yes… why...why...why..  _ Whywhywhywhywwhywhywhy?! " _ Why is this… why can't I heal…? Why can't I  _ see?!" _

Haley had only suffered three panic attacks before in her life. The first, when her father locked her away in that padded room. She’d been begging, screaming, and clawing at the door to be let out—her voice cracking as she’d wailed about not wanting to become a magus… that she only wanted to see her father smile again.

The second, when she had exposed her telekinetic gifts and her father had increased his methods of torture training. She’d held a book tightly in her tiny hands: wishing a Knight would come save her as he did in the story, despite knowing he would lose the love for the woman he set out to save.

The third, when her name had been garishly displayed across her a tiny sheet of paper. A letter attached to a familiar that was sent to her, by the one person who had helped her succeed in fleeing from her father. The words still haunted her to this day.

_ Your father has a bounty in your name, and it's bad. He's offering a million, Haley. A million to bring you back alive so he can handle you properly. Adranga even supports gouging your eyes out and putting them in a container. _

The rest of the letter had been lost to her hysterics. The bitter cold had encumbered the ensemble clinging to her. The rain had washed her face of tears… drowned out her degrading dramatics.

Each of those times she was able to bounce back, like a ball one would continuously throw at a wall. Only this time, her aim was off and now the sphere gutted her instead. Haley couldn't see, and that—was unacceptable. Not plausible. She needed her eyes.  _ Depended on _ them. She could  **not** be blind, no way in hell.

She needed to heal. Her piece of crap father had hammered her like a nail on these abilities. So  _ heal _ . It burned to heal. Why did it hurt so badly? What the hell was going on?! No matter, her fingers could fall off for all she cared, so long as she could see. Haley had to see. Had to see. Had to seeseesee _ seeseeseeseesee _ **_SEE._ **

"H-hey… hey…" That voice… "Hey… you…okay?" Was it that Emiya kid? Right… he fell alongside her. Well, he was shoved by some mystic stimulus but that didn't matter. The kid's voice sounded hoarse… not too far away, but lower than her tilted upward frame.

"Y-yea… no… I… don't know. I can't see… and every time I try… try to heal… it feels like everything in my body is going haywire…" Haley rasped, trying to collectively put back her fallen pieces in all the right places.

Shirou attempted to speak, but only husking sounds and hard breaths escaped him. Not a fibre of his being worked properly, and it was painful. Oh-so-mind-numbingly painful. He was warned of this. Touko had told him… he was still getting used to the new body… it was a trial to see what it could handle… and he’d pushed himself past limits he was not supposed to.

Fighting the urge to pass out and the refusal of air to properly flow through his lungs, Shirou patted the cold ground... In search of what? Maybe the girl's hand, or something that would tell him where and what their situation was. Ah, wait, she couldn't see? Couldn't heal? His hearing was a little off… Crap, his hearing was fully off. What the hell?

"The Arena… is it.. cancelling your ability...or…?" The kid asked, trying to make sense of this ordeal.

Haley shook her head, the buzzing in her mind not relenting in the slightest. "Mhmm… I’m… Really freaking out... Where are you..? Can you... Do you have healing abilities…? I… I can't lose my eyesight… I can't…!"

"Mm… no. I don't know... that kind of complicated magic." Alright, the girl was beginning to freak out. That probably would not do them any good. Ah, what was he going to do? He was useless in this state… he needed… Mana.

_ Crap, this is not… ideal at all.  _ The only way he could attain enough mana would be to get a ridiculous amount of blood by this point, or…

Shirou groaned, clocking his closed eyelids with the back of his tattered arm. Yeah, that was not happening. He was screwed. Nothing he could do about it, besides lay here and wait. For what exactly? For the girl who was hyperventilating to lose her shit for good?

"Ack… nope… Hey… calm… down..!"

"C-calm? Calm down? I—you have no idea—I can't… I can't lose my eyesight, Shirou. I can't! I depend on it for everything… it's my whole life… ! I can't draw without it, I can't properly use my gifts… I… I… " A violent buzzing jarred Haley from her shouting and pulverized the already steady headache. Angry now, she tremulously slipped the irritating watch off her wrist and tossed it at—well,  _ something. _

Tempted to join in on throwing flashy jewelry at the walls, Shirou cracked open his eyes and glared at the message.

_ Part two: Find your way out of the tunnel and reunite with companions.  _

“Haah, seriously? Like this…? How are we supposed to…” Shirou peered at the woman still bordering on insanity over the loss of her eyesight. Their disabilities had to be part of the round, as the only reason he could hear her was because her voice was so pitchy and she was well beyond merely screaming, now. 

Fatigued as he was, the redhead had to do something to bring the girl back to her usual wits. He had to fulfill his obligations… If they were going to survive—with or without her eyesight—the most pressing matter was her hysterical state. What could he do, though? Shirou did not know anything about this woman—not even his father was privy to much useful intelligence about her. 

The information given to them was based solely on Loki’s observations: something about a bounty… and being a prosperous Magus Association's teacher’s daughter… yada… yada… Nothing that would help him here, just things that’ll benefit them in a fight. 

And her freak-out was still very much ongoing… “Come on… you will be fine. I am sure your eyesight will come back if we… continue forward…” 

Haley struggled to accede to the boy’s whim. Once again, she felt at the mercy of the damn game-makers. Taking her eyes… above all things… and Diarmuid… Was he okay…? Should she telepathically call out to him to discern his status? 

…

No… she couldn’t. She was nothing but a wreck, and the last thing she wanted to do was bring worry to her partner. Instead, her hands flattened on the pavement beneath her and she sucked in a breath. “What… what did… you say?” 

“Ahh… I said.. I can be your eyes… we just gotta get moving. Do something—or else we are nothing but sitting ducks, only…” Haley rocked forward… then back… balancing her breaths in between her movements as the boy rasped, “I can’t move… this body is still…” 

“Still what…? Are you… hurt too…?” Haley relinquished the lungful of oxygen trapped in her chest and nudged herself onto her hands and knees. 

The kid’s croaky voice seemed close, and there was a lack of energy in it. Even without him corroborating her thoughts, Haley knew the answer to her inquiry. 

Underneath her unsteady hands was the algid armor that protected Shirou’s frame. It seemed unaffected by their collapse. Maybe he’d sustained internal injuries… or broken a bone or two—like her left fingers, and right thigh. 

“No… but… my mana storages… this body is still under observation so it’s… not perfect. Using my abilities… with the little training I’ve had, to do so is taking its toll on me…” Shirou concluded, albeit reluctantly. The old man would probably be pissed when he found out he let their (technical) enemy know his weakness—but… 

He needed her to know, or else they would be in much bigger trouble now rather than later. 

That information was quite the spectacle to Haley. What current state was this boy’s body in, that his magical circuits required inspection? She thought to press for more answers, but felt it unnecessary. It seemed the boy was in the same state as her, and what was the best way to fix that? 

“Eh… mana transfer…” she grumbled with an irritated whine. However, her own magical energy was waning—and the two legitimate ways to properly help him were nothing she would entertain. Haley had refused to have  _ sex _ purposefully for years—until her name was unsullied. Definitely didn't want to engage in intercourse with anyone now, given her profound (and amazing) relations with Diarmuid, and the other method would require too much blood to help him. 

“What was that…?” 

Shaking her head at Shirou’s query, Haley snaked her arm underneath Shirou’s body and slung him over her shoulder. “Nothin’ worth mentioning. But you’re… right. We can’t stay in one spot. Just… try to help me move forward, okay? You’re dead freggin’ weight, Emiya.” Blenching from the unbalanced heaviness on her right side, the woman steadied herself and inched forward. 

Each step sent tidal waves of pain surging through her limbs. Every inhale and exhale challenged the organs sheltered in her rib-cage. Shirou’s legs nearly tangled into hers, and it was befitting that they teetered and tottered like drunken men after an excessive splurge at the bar. 

At least the boy gave clear direction for her to follow—but from the feel of things, they were easy targets... But for what? Haley didn’t know. The catacombs were eerily silent: not even a hint of air travelling through the tunnels. Was there any form of light? According to Emiya, torches flickered on with each labored step they took. 

The watch buzzed again with a follow-up message. Shirou twisted his arm to read the single word:  _ Key. _

"Key…?" Russet eyebrows scrunched together. That made little-to-no sense to him. Wait, maybe it meant something to the rocking woman by his side. "H-Haley… What does ‘keys’… mean?"

How the hell should Haley know? Trying to understand the cryptic direction the ridiculous panel led them down was impractical. ‘Key’, what in the world would that—"Man, I'm so…"

Squirming, the woman shoved her working right hand into her back pocket. Her fingers rolled around the metal to reel it into her palm. "Did it… say anything else?" Haley was holding the thing out now, in the empty air floating around her. "Like what… it wants me to unlock this with…?"

Shoving the questions to the very back of his mind, Emiya shook the watch. Anything from the peanut gallery? No? "Ah… it says… Er..." Welp, that was interesting. What a choice. "Choose if you want to repair your magic circuits, so you can heal. Or…"

Well, that was probably not a difficult choice. Healing would fix Haley's eyesight and repair her broken bones (that the armor probably saved from being her fatal injuries). What other possible option could there be? "Or…?"

Shirou forced his eyes shut, he was reaching his limitations. "Give me enough blood so… I can fix mine."

—————————

The man was fine, he was  _ fine.  _ How in the revolting hells of the world was Kiritsugu's bright, orange self just standing there in the pitch black darkness? Diarmuid almost felt intimidated, what with the weapon he clung to dearly at his side and that characteristically dark stare blaring into him. 

He debated asking for the Slayer's assistance, given that his situation was relatively dire. Each second that ticked by, the groove of the bondage dipped deeper into his core. His arms began to tire, as he was later strung up like a ragdoll for his relentless struggling.

A trap, the Knight had concluded. His recollection of that fall finally made it all come together. His hands dug into the wall for traction: anything to slow his descent into the abyss… all the while clutching the collar of Kiritsugu's jumpsuit. Was that a mistake? Saving his colleague’s honorless hide? For it ended with him triggering the shackles that bound him so. 

Diarmuid fidgeted, he was about ten feet above the man. Surely there was something he could do. Maybe there was a latch, anything, that would release him from his confinements. 

"Care to lend… a hand?" he husked, in a slender movement that aggravated his punished body.

Kiritsugu debated heavily. This decision would once have been easy. Press the wrong portion of the wall, and end his opponent. Loki had suggested something like this might happen. Pardon the fact he  _ lied  _ on the usage of the Magus Slayer's carefully planted bomb idea: this setup was according to plan. Only…

The bastard saved his ass. The kid's, too. And he figured Shirou was aware of it. 

The boy's principles would not call for this, even though Kiritsugu couldn't care less. This was a tournament—eliminating the enemy was priority. At least, it was  _ supposed  _ to be. However, the fallen Knight yet attested to that damn chivalry of his; Shirou would not ever be able to look himself properly in the eye again if he purposefully let the man drown here in Tartarus.

For the first time in ages, Kiritsugu was stranded by what the proper course of action should be. Respect what the kid's wishes would be, and help Diarmuid—or merely pretend to be of assistance to ensure their victory, here? 

_ Victory… _ such a strange thing to call coming to the conclusion of these events. Loki would carry him through the tournament regardless of what happened here, but in his and the boy’s own right; it wasn't entirely what they aimed for, not any longer. 

Pity there wasn't much time to deliberate on the topic. 

A hissing sound travelled down the corridor. Act Two was well on its way. If Emiya remembered correctly: that steaming sound was vapors from the pipes that lined the top of the underpass. If caught underneath them: their skin would succumb to poison and slowly drive their soul from the body. 

It was meant to push the contestants further along, to drive them to the monsters that loitered in the darkness, hungry to rip them to shreds. 

Loading his weapon correctly, Kiritsugu eyed the Heroic Spirit gandering at him with a calculated, weary expression... and decided to attempt to get the boy to make the decision. 

—–––––––––––––––––

Footsteps halted at the unfair choices. It basically told Haley, “You, or Shirou. Pick one”, disguised as returning one of them to their natural abilities. Her eyes… they were too important to pass on fixing… And she was terrified they would permanently remain this way if she didn’t care for them sooner… just like her voice, when she was unable to heal it properly. 

The issue… was that the kid was in bad shape. Given the Psychic’s senses to read intentions: she was fully aware of his hidden ambition to conceal his deteriorating condition. While her magic was at an all-time low (for whatever the reason): Shirou’s felt like it was short circuiting to absolutely nothing. 

And that… could kill him, couldn’t it? 

Magical energy was equivalent to one’s life force—if drained of it completely…  _ Yeah… a person would definitely die… Is Shirou… dying…?  _

Haley groaned. The kid seemed innocent enough. Despite it all, he was not a bad person. Never was he imbued with dishonesty. Every time she managed to be in his presence—he had only pure energy surrounding him. Her eyesight… or his life? It just… didn’t seem comparable. 

With an unbearably lengthy gasp, Haley conceded. She would grievously mourn never being able to visualize the world any longer… to be bereft of the beauty that was Diarmuid’s handsome features. To no longer be able to put her experiences on paper, through her elaborate images that she drew… 

But purposefully impacting upon the kid’s chance at living just… didn’t sit right—even if he was somehow related to that black-hearted assassin. Really, she could not understand their compatibility at all… that being said—

“Shirou’s mana, let’s fix it.” 

Jaw practically unhinged, Shirou jerked to look at the brunette, “Haaaahh…?! You… what…?” 

Once the key disappeared from the girl’s hand, packages upon packages showered down in front of them. Clear sacs provided enough blood to feed a vampire for weeks. Shirou was astounded. The woman had literally lost her mind from her lack of sight… and yet she’d given up the chance to repair her eyes for the sake of  _ him…  _ A nobody, to her. 

He was forever indebted to her—and that Knight… if he remembered correctly: Diarmuid had shielded him when they were being rained down on from the Arena’s soaring weapons. He’d taken the blunt force of the majority of the arsenal before the Arena had swallowed them whole… and now this…

These two were—kind.  _ Damn it all…  _

“What… was that…? Shirou….?” Her worry snapped Shirou out of his thoughts as he gently eased out of the woman’s grip.

Slightly agitated, Shirou replied, “Medicine… I guess you could say. Give me a minute… will you…?” 

“Jeez… don’t go sounding so appreciative, ‘kay?” 

Shirou immediately regretted his tone. His annoyance wasn’t geared precisely towards her,—just the stupid ways he had to maintain himself down in the Underworld… and the sacrifice she made for him. It felt so  _ off _ . She was not in any decent shape to be taking care of him… he should be assisting  _ her _ … Oh, this was all such a mess. 

“Sorry… I am… grateful.” Shirou began, starting to drain the extremely viscous liquid. “I just have a lot on my mind. This is all so crazy… you know…?” 

Haley chuckled, “Oh yeah.  _ Really _ crazy… don’t go wasting my generosity, though… ugh…” Defeated by the throbbing in her leg, she dropped back onto her rear and flexed her awkwardly numbed fingers.

Shirou felt his cheeks involuntarily pull upwards. “I won’t. I promise.” 

Nodding her head in approval, Haley’s ears perked at the sound of his chugging. “What kind of medicine is that…?”

“It’s…” Shirou shifted uncomfortably. “Blood. My body requires it… to sustain itself. Down here in the Underworld, my girlfriend can’t help me, so…” 

The heat burned in the woman’s cheeks—Shirou could see it. Kiritsugu said Loki disclosed she wasn’t a proper Magus, so they both assumed she wouldn’t know much in the ways of magecraft; but this—given her reactions—she seemed to understand. 

“But why… I mean… ? What is wrong with you that you need constant mana transfers…?” 

Sighing, Shirou swallowed his second bag, “Almost a year back, I fought the evils within the Holy Grail… to save the woman I loved. In the end, it destroyed my entire body… but thanks to… well, someone very close to me—my soul was saved. Transferred to this doll body so I could live on…” 

“Doll… body… huh… interesting.” Now it all made sense. Haley had assumed the Association reports were wrong to keep the boy safe—she was not entirely off there—but it made more sense to report Shirou dead, considering the attention his state would bring.

Well, whatever the case might have been, Haley knew for certain the boy was worth saving. From what she knew about that detested Grail—Shirou did the world a gigantic favor. That crappy, bullshitted, omnipotent device was going to drown the world in all sorts of evils… given what she knew about it, and the devastation it had left in New City, Japan.

“Yeah… I hate it, but… it brought me back to Sakura—my girlfriend—and now, Kiritsugu. I’m just.. overworking it, is all,” Shirou finished, chucking the final bag aside as the girl replied.

“Kiritsugu… you came here for him… why…? I can’t understand it… if you fought the evils in the Grail—hell, sacrificed your humanity almost to destroy it… then why come here to save someone like him?” 

“You know… you sound like Saber and Kerei… oh… Saber was my servant in the Holy Grail war, and Kerei was the Overseer… both of them said the same thing. Or something similar, anyway,” he responded, as the woman’s brow crinkled and her eyelids sealed.

“They didn’t understand my love for him. I don’t know exactly what transpired in the war that your friend—that Diarmuid—was part of: but the Kiritsugu I know is not like that, and I choose to believe in the father that I knew, rather than the person he was during that war.” 

Fingers folding painfully into fists, Haley’s teeth indented her lower lip. “That’s… valiant of you and all.. but you have..  _ no idea _ what that man did to those people, not just to Diarmuid. He hasn’t told you… anything at all? Seriously… I guess that sounds about right…” 

Shirou gave a half-hearted smile. “No, no, I don’t. But trust me when I say he isn’t that man, not anymore. I don’t really know what kind of person your Heroic Spirit was, but he is here too. Don’t forget that.” 

Haley wanted—so desperately—to demolish any positive thought this innocent kid had about the man he called “father”; but she chewed desperately on her lip instead. It was not her place, and she was far from that kind of person. Still… 

She saw Diarmuid’s memories clear as day… read the horrid deeds detailed in the Magus Association’s recollections of the war. Kiritsugu had killed so many... So ruthlessly, and cruelly. He’d driven Diarmuid to madness, had caused his very Master to betray him... Forced his beloved spear into his heart—the heart that only yearned for a second chance to possess the loyalty he was denied in his first life. 

All of that—including his pride, and the hope crushed under a single man’s foot—and that man had not even a sliver of remorse. It disgusted Haley, beyond belief. 

Setting all of that distaste aside, she would correct Shirou on one, absolute issue:

“Diarmuid… he is only here because of the evils of the Grail… and because of the despair that your father took part in…  _ No _ —is personally responsible for.” 

Shirou perceived the deep disgust and grief laced through the woman’s words. He felt sorry, he really did, but… it was not entirely of his concern. What his father did in the past was just that… “I… don’t know what to say…” 

Soughing considerably, Haley murmured, “Nothing… I guess… I’m… sorry, too. It’s not like it's your fault, anyway.” Pausing, the woman’s emotions welled up, spilling over like an over-topped wine glass. 

“It’s just… Diarmuid is… trying. He really is, Shirou. Every day in this dreadful place, he tries… so hard, to do better than he had before. He does that, while also attempting to hold on to his honor, his nobility as a Knight—and to protect  **_me_ ** . And… knowing that the person responsible for portions of his despair won’t so much as blink at the pain he caused… just… I don’t know.. pisses me off? Boggles my mind?”

“Yeah… yeah, I get that, absolutely… and seriously, Haley… I am sorry for whatever he did to him, I am. But…there’s nothing we can do… about the past… we can only keep moving forward for the future… someone important taught me that.” 

It was impossible to resist the smile that formulated on her face. The kid’s heart really was pure… he kind of reminded Haley of herself, in some weird way. 

“Well… thanks… I guess. Anyway… we should probably get going… if you are able, now. You do sound much better, after all,” she softly concluded, staggering as she stood. 

Pain… the strength of it riveting in her protesting body irritated Haley. It was becoming too pressingly difficult to ignore. She was used to the god-awful feeling, and to be fair—it was nowhere near as prominent as her ‘training’. However, fulfilling their goal had to take priority, or else she would fall into utter shambles eventually.

Shirou agreed with that prospect. They had to keep moving. He was not wholly back to normal (not even close) but he could feel his energy slowly returning. Haley… on the other hand… “Here… let me help you.” 

The woman muttered a thanks, as he steadied her. The extra inches she had over him made it slightly easier to lean her down the dark corridors that they traversed in silence. It was fine, Shirou enjoyed the quiet. His only issue was how heavy a burden the lanky woman was becoming.

The dreary passage seemed to have no ending in sight; just random curvatures in the fortress and a confusing decision of which passageway to take. 

“Left or right… Shirou…?” Haley interrupted their noisy roaming with an echoing whisper.  _ Gosh… it’s  _ **_too_ ** _ damn quiet down here…  _

Cocking his head so his eyes would do more of the work then both their debile constitutions, Shirou considered their options, “Dunno really… each way is as dark as the rest…” He sounded softer than usual. He was growing way too tired. “Guess we just… wait…” 

Up until now, Shirou and Haley were wandering aimlessly through the taverns but… they had Kiritsugu and Diarmuid, and both of them should be able to sense their presence through their pacts… It was the same as the Grail war, if Emiya remembered correctly… if that  _ were  _ the case…

_ Old man… can you… hear me?  _ This had to work… it was the given instruction for them to follow, after all. 

Dead silence, until… 

_ Shirou… thank goodness. Are you alright? I was worried about you. _

Shirou heaved.  _ Yeah… I think so… I pushed myself too far, against your warning… I’m sorry. _

_ We will talk about that later… Now tell me about your condition.  _

_ I am okay, now. But at first: not good … My circuits were all over the place… and my mana was drained. Haley is pretty messed up, too. Lost her eyesight, and I think she’s got a broken leg… but she managed to carry me for awhile and now we’re trying to find you and Diarmuid… you… are together… right?  _ There was a strange pause that gave Shirou slight anxiety. Were they separated, too? He hadn’t given it any thought, and if that were the case—

_ Yes. He is here.  _

_ Oh… that’s good. Great, even. Then we gotta— _

_ Listen, Shirou.  _

That steely tautness that Shirou heard inflected in his voice…  _ Huh.. ? What...? _

_ We are under attack. Diarmuid is in no position to help our cause, right now. With information from Loki, I can eliminate him now within the Round’s rules. Or… I can choose to save him. It’ll be risky and serves no purpose besides— _

Shirou derived where Kiritsugu was going with this, and after glancing at the blind woman next to him, awaiting his response, seemingly unknowing of the situation… it was just too awful. It was risky… but after everything Haley had disclosed to him—everything she sacrificed to help him—he just couldn’t let Kiritsugu do it.

_ You said it yourself, old man: A person can only save those who belong to the side they are on. Haley and Diarmuid are on our side… at least for this round, anyway…  _

_ Shirou—  _ Kiritsugu’s voice held a scolding modulation, but Shirou blathered on.

_ I mean… Diarmuid protected me.  _

_ Haley sacrificed her eyesight for me, Dad. I didn’t get to tell you that. She was given the choice to help me, or herself _ — _ and she chose me. I… have to repay that debt… so…  _

_ Save him, if you can.  _

_ … No… _

_ You have to. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm surprised at how easily this chapter came down... And I really hope after everything I rewtached and such of post Fate zero kiritsugu, watching shirou be shirou helped this stay true to their characters. They're very complex, and hard to write but I thoroughly enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Haley on the other hand... Is kind of falling apart. She just can't catch a break lol but more to come for this round... Just gotta put some details together. So it might take a little longer but anyway,
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the teammates reactions to whom they're stuck with .. wonder what's gonna happen?
> 
> Enjoy!


	49. Lively Arena Shenanigans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas....! I am stuck at home with the Coronavirus, yay me. But at least through the pounding headache, I have been able to procure another chapter. Enjoy!

_ An order… _ huh, the kid certainly hadn't lost his tenacity. 

Regardless of his disdain, Kiritsugu hurriedly grazed against the crevices in the partition with his splayed fingers. If his memory served him correctly, an uneven crease was wedged underneath the fractures. It should bring about two levers. One blue, to trigger the chains, tightening them with the strength of a thousand men—severing its victims. The red one to lower the bonds that enclosed the former Heroic Spirit, allowing Kiritsugu to free him. He needed to locate this quickly _ — _ the smoldering fumes fizzed nearer. 

_ Old man, can you sense my presence? We need help locating you,  _ Shirou added to his thoughts, while he figured his ways around the fortifications. 

_ I can. You are far,  _ he answered simply.

_ We are heading left… tell me if we are moving further away or closer to you.  _ Striving to focus on the mana linking him to the kid, Kiritsugu monitored magical flow. 

_ Further,  _ he clarified.

_ Okay, try to find us. The watch sent a message that we are to find each other,  _ Shirou said with finality.

_ Will do, stay safe.  _ Locating Shirou should take top priority, but the groan of the Heroic Spirit hung up above Kiritsugu refocused that attention elsewhere. In his right eardrum, the sizzling grew closer; to his left, the clinking of the subjugating chains tangled the Lancer tighter. 

Steady hands palpated the marble, and the Magus Slayer’s palms finally sank in. Just as he’d suspected _ — _ the two handles appeared in all their glory. Emiya felt oddly aware of the pointed stare from the man above them. 

_ Time to see if Loki told the truth.  _ Remaining passive—but feigning his indecision over which to choose—he firmly dislodged the red lever. 

The chains moaned as the metals whined and turned. Diarmuid released the tight breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in his battered chest. Problematic as it was _ — _ could Kiritusugu be trusted? No, that way of thinking was reckless. As much as he wanted to have faith—this man was still a cold-blooded assassin and the supportive action he took probably came about unknowingly, or would eventually benefit him in some way.

Regardless, the Knight tucked away his distaste and mistrust underneath the blanket of his consciousness and accepted the relief from the loosened chains. 

“Thank you,” he muttered, feeling gutted like a pig by the deep gash in his waist, his innards bleeding freely. 

The weight of Diarmuid’s arms brought his entire upper body to his bent knees. Hollows in his limbs screeched in agony. He shielded the Assassin’s boy from at least five different sorts of weaponry (each larger than the one before) as they treated his body like a cutting board.

Snagging the Spirit’s scattered weapons in one hand, Kiritsugu hooked his arm underneath the tattered constitution that was Diarmuid. “There is no time to rest.” Urgency rolled off his tongue. “Move.

Diarmuid did not have much time to comprehend the gravity of their situation. The corner of his eye spied the steam exiting the pipes that lined the once tartarean halls. If only he could impel his extremities to obey _ — _ but each step he took dragged harshly against the pavement. Even with the slayer’s help: he was lifting boulders with a thin rope. An impossible endeavor. 

_ What is… happening to me…?  _ Diarmuid referred to himself with hopelessness. Injuries like this should not have this much  _ devastating  _ effect on him. Maybe the Assassin should have left him hoisted up by the Arena’s attempt to silence him.

It would have been the safer choice for Kiritsugu. Although _ — _ the thought crossed the Knight’s mind that the man’s successful attempt at releasing him was merely because of the round rules. No matter the reason—he was being half-dragged and half- supporting his own weight and it delayed them from the mist nipping at their heels like a bloodthirsty hound. 

Diarmuid recoiled from the extensive heat that had his ankles hissing like raindrops on lava. “Ack, what is this…?” 

Kiritsugu ignored the man slumped over his shoulder. They needed to move quicker. “Time alter… double excel..” he said, just above a whisper. 

The dash was short as time awkwardly spun inward. A few feet, that’s all the spell granted them. Kiritsugu groaned at the inefficiency. Death had a strange effect on one’s internal time. It still moved forward—ever expanding what would be considered days into months. Manipulating such things in the Underworld he deemed drastic, after the intensity it put on the Magus Slayer's limbs. 

Though _ — _ lugging the Lancer around was far more distressing. Being so close… Kiritusgu remarked that indeed whatever curse made him uncontrollable and corrupted, was nothing but a bud: so small, one would forget to water it to ensure it would grow. This was something he had to pass on to Loki, as that mindless God seemed ignorant of that tiny prospect. 

_ Or maybe he knows more of it than he lets on, and that was why he placed the couple with us to find ways to have the Arena end them…  _ Emiya deduced instead, not fully understanding the fixation the God had with these two. Whatever game Loki and the Wizard were playing… 

“Down…!” Diarmuid launched his weight into the shouldering man’s side. 

Cringing from the irritation as their bodies became twisted together in their pitiful roll, Diarmuid sliced Gae Dearg across the magic force that nearly engulfed them. If the Heroic Spirit didn’t know any better _ ,  _ he’d assume that the wall of steam was  _ alive _ in the way it closed in on them. At least the ability to dispel magic from his demonic spear was enough to pause the disturbance... if even for a second.

That opening merely forged the opportunity for the strange utterance Kiritsugu spewed to launch them further down the moderately lit halls. An interesting quirk; one that Diarmuid must comprehend if he and his Lady were to find themselves in battle against him. 

Well… if they should escape the mouth of the sorcery menacingly attaching to the bulwarks and stretching further before them. Did it intend to circle and close them within? Diarmuid refused to acknowledge that outcome. 

At least for one of them—and with great hope—both.

The honorable thing to do would be to dislodge himself from the Magus Slayer. Dead weight—that was all the Irishman was, and if he remained in Kiritsugu’s clutches, they would both meet a pitiful end. His spear was not as inefficacious as his limbs _ — _ there was still something he could do. 

Kiritsugu expelled another heavy breath, the magic dragging his airways along with it. The stubble following along his arm and leg hairs bristled like the locks at the top of his head. The pervasive swelter suffocating him alongside the tonnage that just… 

Inertia swept the man across the floor and catapulted the detached Assassin underneath the torchlight. What was the fractured servant supposed to do against a sheet of steam? All the lopsided man did was eliminate himself earlier than Kiritsugu anticipated. He’d be dragging his carcass to the boy and have to explain… what… exactly?

Diarmuid adjusted his stance, his left leg straight, his right bent to support his jagged weight. Heat stretched too close for comfort; the loose strand of hair at the bridge of his nose oscillating against the stuffy heat. 

Tightly gripping the metal shaft of Gae Dearg as it flared in his hands, Diarmuid twirled the weapon. Mana snared the pole; it twisted and spun with mesmerizing grace and practiced precision. Surrounded by a sharp claret gleam, the demonic lance’s magical prowess sliced through the blanket that was dissolving his skin like a tablet in water. The repeated slashing dispelled the Arena's attack, defusing the steam like wind carrying vapor. 

Aiming his weapon towards the pipes that ridiculed them so, Diarmuid drove his blade through the round bulbs that showered the powerful condensation. Though knowing it would be futile expecting to eliminate all of them, Gae Dearg swiped the very ceiling above them.

For a brief moment, the Knight thought the action to be a mistake _ — _ that collapsing the roof would disgorge its contents, similar to that of tipping over the goblet. To his relief, it dog-piled the bars and rods with a clanging clarity as it fizzled out. 

Collapsing on the support of Gae Dearg’s length, his aching joints and injuries getting the better of that incursion, Diarmuid looked to his unorthodox teammate. The man had eyes so dark and empty he harmonized with the cryptic halls behind him. It was solely the sharp contrast behind Kiritsugu’s grizzly looks and the orange jumpsuit that gifted any character to him.

Well… his leaning figure alongside the walls and his blank stare indicated he was safe; and that the debt that was owed was at least somewhat repaid. “That is... I guess… alright...” he mumbled, before his golden eyes dragged to a close _ — _ and Diarmuid toppled over.

———————————

The silence was cut cleanly with a sharp shrill from the woman. 

One moment all was well. Shirou was following through the thoughts that guided them closer towards their prospective partners. His father was handling issues on his end, but according to them, they were managing. 

Suddenly the muteness shared between them fell apart like the woman slung over his shoulder. Something about burning in her circuits and now….

“Haaaah!? He collapsed? What the hell is going on….?” Shirou mistakenly said aloud, as the woman aggressively flailed in his arms at his revelation. 

“Who… collapsed..!?” Haley fidgeted in the boy’s grip to enclose her fingers on the breastplate of Shirou’s tattered armor. The silence that followed her question only amplified her unrest. “Shirou….! Who...!?” 

Ringing in the redhead’s ears jarred his attention elsewhere. He was overly burdened by the deafening of the world around him. “What… did you say… Haley…?” 

Eyebrows twisting together so fiercely that creases formed, Haley snagged her lower lip underneath her top teeth. “ ** _Who_** **_collapsed_** …?” She made it her mission to enunciate the very words.

Eyes wide as saucers, Shirou turned to the woman (who he knew could not see his concerned expression). Her lips were moving, so indeed she was responding. But... the problem merely intensified _ — _ the vicious buzzing solidified his fear. “I… cannot hear you.” 

The violent quiet of the Arena… was this why? Was it… to force them to utilize their senses to the best of their abilities?  _ No… that couldn’t be… but then why _ —

A tremor interrupted Haley’s position and reply. “Eek, that’s  _ HOT!” _

Without her eyesight, the woman felt useless. _Utterly_ useless, as his arms securely locked around her waist and plummeted with her across the flooring. Torridity flooded her senses—she swore it flared her chestnut locks to cinders and forced its way into her nostrils. 

Even blind, she knew the heat that sweltered was too intense. Droplets of sweat instantly pricked her temples, coated her arms and soaked through her jeans. 

"Crap…!" Shirou snapped into motion, slugging the girl over his shoulders and sprinting along the path closest to him, regardless if it was correct.

Yes, he would run as far as his feet could handle if it meant protecting himself and this girl: to reach Kiritsugu and her friend. They could figure out their escape from the walls that burst with magma not too long ago.

As if he were auditioning for a tumbling act, Shirou somersaulted, and voluted in the opposite direction of the rupturing Arena. The explosions multiplied, following him down a path that Kiritsugu internally directed him down. The spatter of heat struck his perfectly replicated limbs, inciting an awful croak. Determination outweighed pain, as the last thing he wanted was for Haley to succumb to any additional pain. No, definitely not. Not if Shirou could shield her.

"Shirou, what's happening…!?" Haley's voice couldn't carry over the volatile sound that marched in her ear drums. Not that it mattered, given the younger one's newly found deafness. And if her anxieties were true about Diarmuid…

_ Diarmuid… are you okay ?? Was it you who collapsed…? ….Diarmuid….? _

With her Knight's response being absent, Haley shouldered more trepidation. Her beloved would never leave her swimming in a pool of worry by offering her no reply _ — _ unless he  _ really  _ was hurt. Scorching heat, blasts at every corner, her circuits feeling as they were on fire, Emiya's adoptive son's bellows of suffering and her blindness adding to that only made her frantic in the boy's arms. 

For the first time ever, the young woman felt like the broken little girl stuffed away in a padded cellar once more. Defenseless, and desperately reliant on someone else to break her from her predicaments. It was the worst kind of feeling. 

Something _ — _ there had to be  _ something  _ she could do to communicate with Shirou.  _ Anything  _ to help them escape whatever the passageway regurgitated… but her powers required her to visualize her surroundings… her photographic memory was useless if she hadn't seen anything prior to her senses being gone. Illusion magic was nothing…

"Shirou… would enhancement magic help you…?" Before she could slap herself for forgetting that he could not hear her, an awful yowl emptied from the kid _ — _ followed by her own incomprehensible screech as they both tumbled across the cobblestones. 

Eyesight was unnecessary to understand that the skin on her cheek oozed down her chin. The armor did absorb a majority of the shock (but still molded under the fiery liquid) from their awkward roll—the boy kept his body on top of hers at every angle possible. The injuries he must have sustained shielding her, Haley refused to acknowledge. He must have had his reasons, as she tentatively touched the exposed areas of herself and recoiled from whatever tissue lay barren. 

Well, as much as she'd imagined that using more magic would inevitably provoke her circuits more—she devoured the intensity screaming at her to stop—and poured what energy she could muster into Shirou. Haley could only hope he understood the flow of spell-craft within his very being and would press onward.

Armor barely keeping the magma shards away from his back, his heels and thighs took the brunt of the flares. It hurt immeasurably as Shirou laid atop the girl before a tingling sensation motorized his limbs. He glanced down at the older woman, and noticed the flickering in her eyes as they closed like curtains, then snapped open as they were separated once again.

This girl was pushing her limits—indeed, battling unconsciousness; Shirou would not put her effort to waste. 

In the nick of time, too. Spectacular as the strength rushing through his veins and the indomitable speed given was _ — _ he paused, as from the depths of the abyss surfaced strange little gremlins. These funky creatures wore mischievous grins with prickly little teeth. They had rotten green flesh, fat pointed noses and piercingly pure lemon-like eyes, all locked devilishly on the pair. 

"How the… did they just come up from the ground…?" With Haley snared in his grip, Shirou sprinted. The boost helped him sidestep the vomit stream of calidity that poured from the above and ramparts surrounding him.

The girl’s last ditch effort effectively rounded his intuition and carried him down the path led to him by his father’s words. It was also that very distinct perception that whispered to check his surroundings. With his head tilted to his shoulder, Shirou observed the small creatures multiplying and gaining incredible speed (or perhaps his own was beginning to fade). "What the hell is this round…" 

Loki hadn't mentioned any of this. Did he purposefully keep them in the dark? He gave key tips to win the round, but by this point, none of them fit the bill for winning... Especially not with the sensory loss and the goblins added into the mix. 

Not as though he really had time to think about it, as the dwarf-like beings caught onto his shins, rocketing to his biceps where his armor had melted underneath the sparks of lava. Legs dragging to a pitiful halt, Emiya balanced Haley on his left, while calling to his right one of his small swords. Twisting and turning to keep the evil imps from lodging on to the passed-out woman, he swiped.

Scarlet (matching his very hair) rained, heads cleaved and travelling the darkness. Inhuman cries partnered with the stench of dissolving flesh made Shirou wrinkle his nose—but he refused to reduce the ferocity in his kicks and searing. Keeping up the volume of attacks as more jagged teeth sank into him was becoming difficult, however… As for every kill he made—two more Goblins rose from the shadows.

“Acckk…!” the resilient young man hacked out, wearing the gremlins like clothes by this point due to their overwhelming quantity.

Just for a moment _ — _ to gain some sort of advantage _ — _ Shirou tossed the girl lightly to the ground, muttering a sincere apology that he hoped she’d forgive him for the manhandling. Promptly after, he performed a death-roll (matching the strength of an alligator), all the while ripping the savages from his body.

Only so many crumpled under the technique, frustrating the kid beyond belief. But with less attached to his person—it was easier to hack the few that clung to him with a vice grip resembling a crab’s claw, tight with a pinch from the annoying incisors. With the last of them off and charging their way—the boy lunged for the motioning woman and curled her into his arms. 

_ Shirou, you remained in position longer than expected. What is happening over there with you…? _ Kiritsugu’s concerned voice blared in his adoptive son’s mind, reminding him in his desperate attempts to outrun erupting tunnels and monsters galore that he hadn’t mentioned any of it to the old man.

_ Sorry, I'm a little all over the place! My hearing is gone, Haley’s blindness isn’t helping and I think she’s out of magic..! I'm being chased by goblins and the lava from ear—lieeeeer.  _ The last bit stretched as long as Shirou’s leap to avoid yet another surging waterfall of blood-orange liquid. If only he could figure out if there was some sort of trigger to releasing the magma or a way to stop it entirely!

Flesh wounds, that’s all the pulsing beats were in his skin. Shirou had been dealt far worse than this! He had to keep telling himself that, before the swelling and blood permeating from his countless open wounds hampered him on the battlefield.. 

_ Alright, that is not the most ideal of conditions, but we can make do. You are getting close. Let me try to wake the Heroic Spirit. If I can do that, then maybe we can cross-communicate between Lancer, Haley, you and myself for the best of plans.  _ Damn, why hadn’t he thought of that? Shirou’s old man was really good at thinking of solutions even in the worst of situations. 

Shirou had faith that whatever condition Diarmuid was in—his old man was capable of getting him out of it, even for a minute or two. Communication was essential and as the woman stirred in his arms, he had thought it could benefit them going forward in some darn way. 

Now hope was stretched thin as a rubber band as a blockade of magma debuted its appearance, causing the boy to shuffle before colliding directly into it.

“Dammit…!” It was a drastic effort to not stumble backwards while the infernal fiends nipped and clawed at the back of his shins.

Electricity shot through his body as the spatters once again flicked their way across his exposed anatomy. The awful chain effect of stumbling _ — _ and his futile attempt to angle his landing just out of reach of the waterfall of the deadly inferno _ — _ had him cursing under his breath. On instinct, Shirou drew the woman close and shot his sword outward at the horde of opportunists ready to devour them both. 

There was an overwhelming sense of intent to consume the two morons sprawled on what Haley assumed was the Arena’s flooring. She only just broke out of her stupor—the Arena’s explosives and awkward cackling of monsters being mostly responsible—and she aimed to be of some sort of damn assistance. 

Thinking back to her punishment game: the telekinetic channeled this magnetic current into a small burst of energy. Something one with mystic eyes or psychic ability could quite easily do, and a bit she had only learned to grasp not so long ago. Given her inexperience with such matters, the upsurge was weak, but just enough to create a much needed separation from whatever landed where they once occupied.

Mollified sighs synced between the two teammates. They had a chance of escape _ — _ however slight _ — _ but the alleviation was short-lived. With the woman still cradled in his grip, Shirou teetered as he regained a standing position to use what he thought to be a solid stone structure of the catacombs. By contrast, the very assembly was devoid of content—and he along with the woman, slipped through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, as the note above states: I am bedridden with the rona. Probably got it at work since I handle an influx of customers daily and drive their cars in and out of the car shop... lucky me. Thankfully, it's not at severe as most people (though the headache is legit kicking my ass) but still is not fun at all. Hopefully I am better soon. That being said, I hope I can get the next chapter done a bit sooner, now that I have been resting and have time off due to the mandatory quarantine. I digress, this round is either really good, or dragging since it will now be 4 chapters before actually finished lol Hope everyone is enjoying their holidays and the progression of this fic! I love reading comments, let me know what you think! And as always,
> 
> See you in the next chapter!


	50. Cohesive Battle

Kiritsugu gripped the cold steel of Diarmuid's weapons tightly for comfort. Shirou was in danger, and there was nothing he could do to save him besides close the margin between them. Lava, deafness, blindness and more beasts while he was dragging along the worst dead weight imaginable. No… the Lancer could still be of use.,

 _I will wake the former Heroic Spirit. If I can do that, we can cross-communicate._ Justifiable for removing this wretch from the smaller man's hunched figure. Another bruise on the damned thing would be neither here nor there.

With a clang of weapons on the dark floor, Emiya grabbed the overly muscular arm dangling over his shoulder and chucked him. In retrospect, it was more like heaving and fumbling a football the size of a truck. Grunting with dissatisfaction, he started compressing the frayed thorax: anything to snap him out of his stupor. He needed this Heroic Spirit awake, and he needed him _now._ The lives they both seemed to cherish were dependent on it.

However, every time he bulldozed the body, there was no light in his eyes. No reaction that so much as hinted he would wake within the time frame they needed. Only shallow breaths escaped the crack in Diarmuid's lips while curses left Kiritusugu's. Useless, trying to bring life to a dead-man, but still, he tried.

The berated legs were lifted over his shoulder, The Magus Slayer slanted his jaw and checked his airways for obstruction. All of this was entirely mundane, displaying no trace of improvement. If there was not a way _he_ could bring him to consciousness, then maybe if he voiced his need elsewhere….

"Sponsors… if you have suggestions or help, I am all for it," Kiritsugu muttered to the eyes watching him struggle to alleviate an incapacitated spirit.

Beats of silence passed, leading Emiya to believe he was on his own to figure out this dilemma... until the tiniest of bells chimed and dropped nothing but a note, leaving the stoic man with an expression of dread.

_Diarmuid is suffering from mana loss. Have Haley request sponsor help._

Sucking his teeth, Kiritsugu supposed that made sense. Questions burned the back of his mind of the what's and how's. The pair made it this far, and from what he perceived, hadn't a clue they were dragging their limits. How could they have come from battling Gods to mana depletion now? The tidbit was certainly another advantage on his belt for the future, but here it was the worst case scenario.

How the hell was pairing them together supposed to be of use? It had done nothing but hinder his and Shirou's progression (albeit it had been informative). For anything gained to remotely come together: they had to first make it out alive, and if the once quiet halls have turned to shaky rattling—that seemed less and less plausible.

Ducking his arms underneath the servant's underarms, Kiritsugu dragged him (along with the weapons on his back) and shoved his carcass along the dark fortifications. Their drastic orange bodies did little to keep them inconspicuous, and he longed for his usual dark attire more than ever as another one of the Arena's monsters skulked about.

Was that thing a servant? It was endowed in height; its lean, hard pectorals exposed; it had the longest white hair rivaling that of the Wizard's own mane; and blood-red horns on top of its masked face. A Minotaur, maybe? What in the hell was he going to do against that thing?

He eyed the weapons of the former Heroic Spirit. Could he utilize them? Or were they only to be powered by the hands of their proper owner? Regardless of that prospect—a sword and spear were not suited to _this_ assassin, but make do he would. He did still have his shotgun tucked away over his shoulder, but that would be used as the last resort.

His weapons have proven that he was not equipped to fight servant monsters and the like.

" _Food… you scared… but you're…. Food…."_ The sound of that monstrous thing was a grotesque gargle.

 _Tch,_ So that's what was at play, here.

Gripping Gae Dearg tightly, Kiritsugu waited. He stood tall, back flat against the Arena. The Mana consumption from this demonic lance shouldn't draw too much from the woman. Not only that—but it being able to pierce the giant's armor should be enough if he calculated his strikes accordingly. He just needed… an opening, or the element of surprise.

The beast had not seen them yet… and upon closer close inspection, its eyesight was hindered by a long, bull shaped charcoal mask with a gold ring in the nose. Good. So his win was not entirely skewered here, there was something playing in their favor.

With a final message to the boy: _Shirou, the woman is drained of mana, you were correct in that assumption; and it is affecting her Heroic Spirit's consciousness. I received a note for her to obtain help from her sponsors to correct this matter. That is all I can tell you_ —Kiritsugu readied to strike.

——————————

Kiritsugu's directive resounded like a bull-horn in Shirou's head. _Got it… got it…_ he thought, rubbing at the streak of crimson streaming down from his temple.

Eyesight coming into focus, Shirou glanced around the emptiness for the girl. Her eyes were still jammed shut, but she was… testing the surrounding area despite her disability. How long had he been out? Couldn't have been long; the trickle of blood was still warm to the touch and his surroundings had not wavered too much.

Grunting, the orange-top leaned over and gently tapped the girl on her shoulder. She leaped out of her skin, eliciting a slight chuckle from the boy.

"Gosh, make some noise before you do that, will you?!" Haley shouted, but was instantly silenced by a finger to her lips and a warm breath in her ear.

Shirou's eyes finally accustomed to the dark, and the last thing he wanted was the blind girl setting off the colossal sleeping brute underneath them. Caged they were, strung up above by chains. They were canaries in a cage, with the enemy cat unaware of its feast above it.

"Haley… we need your sponsors to assist you in some way with your mana. Diarmuid won't wake because of it," the kid whispered, keeping his hues locked directly on the creature below them.

Haley could hear the subtle caution in his tone, but could not make sense of it. If only she could see, and if only he could hear her…! But the more pressing matter was Diarmuid… Okay, she needed to remain calm. Sponsors, the boy said… She had already been helped once with the special key… Hopefully they'll—

A tiny bell. An elixir dropped from a minute parachute into Shirou's welcoming hands. Then a snarl roared, one so cryptic both he and the woman stiffened. He couldn't hear the beast's approach—but oh, did he feel it. Every hair on his body stiffened, and a miniscule turn to glimpse over his shoulder revealed a single gold and red eye, blinking at them curiously.

Haley swallowed her whimper. Heat flared over her hunched shoulders, and she knew—oh, she knew—the sounds of a monster. Regardless of both of their fears, a glass bottle was shoved into her hands. The boy said nothing, but she got the drift.

Shaking fingers fumbled the lid of the strange bottle; with a small jerk, Haley concluded it was a liquid. Not taking any chances, she chugged the thing and smeared the juice from her lower lip.

Her circuits thrummed to life, and while she had hoped it was her vision that would come back along with it—merely a magical pulse drove into her veins. It was enough, she figured, as she felt the return of the energy she desperately lacked. Now—what to do with the improvement?

The chains creaked, rocking the enclosure. Shirou patted Haley's back, ushering her forward. The cyclops was testing the iron; he had imagined it was just as deteriorated by the darkness as they were. Ever so slowly, they inched forward, his swords again manifested in his ready palms.

There was going to be two blind people in just a second... he urgently needed a plan to escape their entrapment first. It would be stupid to strike the thing with no option for them to exit. "Haley, try to strengthen your mana with Diarmuid so we can cross-communicate." It was his final instruction as Shirou turned to face the beast.

Nodding, Haley thought of how _exactly_ she was supposed to do that. They were nowhere near each other, and infusing him with more mana required her blood or furthering their intimacy—all of which were not possible, given their separation.

 _Diarmuid… I can't… help you. But please, if you can hear me… please… we need you. I have mana to give you… but I don't know how… and we are about to become… monster food. Please… Diarmuid… please… wake up… you_ **_need_ ** _to wake up…!_

Dead silence, aside from the whining of chains, and thick, grimy fingers wedging their way into the coop. The stench from its breath levelled Haley's stomach, and the bubbling therein meant she was doing a piss-poor job keeping her lunch where it belonged.

" _Mmm… food… for… me…?"_

The smile that bore fangs and emitted the wickedest of odors won the intestinal battle.

Ejecting vomit from the deepest reaches of her stomach, Haley hurled and the boy yelped.

"Crapppp….!" Shirou then propelled his swords into the eye of the beast.

Bright vermillion splattered into the aviary, along with the vociferation of the Cyclops as it rattled the cage. " _Ahhh… my… eye….kill… you… kill_ **_YOU_ ** _!"_ The Giant grabbed the chain hoisting the two in the air and yanked it free as if it were made of tissue paper.

Swiveling, Shirou grabbed the bars. "Strengthening materials…" Magic laced the metals, turning them emerald green as he tore them apart. "Haley, we're gonna jump… get ready…!"

Oh, what was he even saying? He grabbed the crouched woman's thin wrist and catapulted into the abyss below them.

The fall he’d thought would take forever was short, and his legs cringed from the slap against the pavement. "Ackk…!" Despite the pain, Shirou lunged forward, dragging the woman along with him as the enclosure clattered behind him. He once more lowered himself by running rather than attacking the ginormous creation head-on. Too many variables, but maybe… if he could just...

_Dad, which way to you…!?_

The unease carrying in his old man's voice worried Shirou to no end. _You're heading in our direction but_ — _stay away! This Minotaur is-!_

Minotaur?! "Oh come on…! Waahh!" Shirou sidestepped, as a club struck where he and the woman once stood. The ground erupted, debris scattering in the wake.

"Dammit..!" Slinging the girl over his shoulder, Shirou projected Heracles great Axe-Sword. Metal clung and scraped against metal as the force sent shattering waves down the bones of his arms. "Bahh, Soo strong…! Erk!"

All he could do was parry the strikes. Electricity crackled from the sliding of blades. Only then did the creation rise its leg; the cracking of bone resounded in the darkness, sending the two shrieking into the corridors.

"Shit…!" Haley screamed, knowing too well the sound of broken bones. Healing—could she do it now!? Did the sponsors repair her magical ability!? She had to try, as she palpated the crunching underneath her fingertips. "Come on… heal… PLEASE!"

The intent to kill was so powerfully strong! Haley snagged the boy’s limp body and used her kinetic wave to carry them away from the blast of crashing weaponry on pavement.

"Kill… you..!"

Haley slapped her ears as the figure of Greek mythology’s bellow was massive enough to send her whole body into tremors. She fought against releasing her stomach bile a second time, as the stomping that shook the Arena rounded the corner, leaving behind a bewildered woman attempting to heal injuries she couldn't see but could _feel._

 _Diarmuid please… I need to communicate with Shirou to find his wounds… please… wake UP!_ Her hands traversed the boy's body in the meantime, trying to locate just where the monster's weapon had met flesh.

"There...!" Protruding from Shirou's side was a long rib and tender skin. As the woman attempted to heal, she once again propelled them both in whichever direction felt furthest away from the vicious being closing in on them with the strongest intent to devour them.

What the hell was the thing chasing after them? If only she were not blindly grappling with their fate!

Spit flying, Shirou hacked and turned over with relief in his side and a weapon much too heavy in his right hand. The blaring in his head was one thing, but the hulking figure towering above them had him driving the humongous sword over his head, the earth-shattering poundage sending them soaring in a frenzy.

Warmth spread through Shirou's limbs—spell craft, mending his rupturing arms. "Thank you, Haley. I don't know how you're doing it… but your healing is working."

Haley wanted desperately to respond, but her guesswork was paying off. Amplifying her other senses helped her pinpoint just where the kid was taking the blows. It was the least she could do until her partner could help them communicate.

"Why… you no… die… pathetic… humans!" Pounding his fist to his bare chest, the Cyclops charged, club in hand. Shirou ducked underneath the slow mass and allowed its own force to collide with his weapon and topple the gargantuan myth sideways.

If before it was a tremor, it was now a full-on fissure, as the towering giant attempted to catch itself in the vast space.

Shirou wasted no time, allowing his armaments to dissipate; he tightly clenched the woman's arm and took off in the direction of his father and her Heroic Spirit. If any of them could match their attackers—it'd be Diarmuid. Now… he just needed the darn Servant to wake up, and what better way than to bring the girl straight to him? It had to work, because if not: they were all going to be devoured alive.

——————————

It was a small note, attached to a tiny red pill. He disregarded the message. The most important thing in that moment was swallowing the medicine that would save his Lady's life, and return him to the watered-down version of his past self.

It was a simple action, and one that would prolong his stay with the woman he adored. Only now did the ramifications of swallowing that drug settle in. Without the extra prowess of the Servant body he was obtaining once again—Diarmuid's strength relied heavily on the magical circuits of his Lady.

Thus, splurging in Moralltach's demonic power repeatedly and utilizing Gae Dearg to its full extent left a hefty burden on the magical energy that his Lady had not relied on lately. If only he could have realized it sooner—then perhaps he would not be so weak; maybe he could have taken down the obstacles of the Arena some other way, and not put such stress on his woman.

Now—in the emptiness of his dream-like state—he hovered. Diarmuid heard Lady Haley's voice beckoning him to wake, to aid them in conversation… Yet try as he might to break free from the strangling of his own mental capacity—he couldn't. There was a mysterious message locked deep within his psyche that he had to unravel...

… And it had something to do with that little note and gift from Merlin.

If only he could decipher exactly what the Wizard was trying to have him decipher in the depths of his unconsciousness. His Lady—and damn it all, the Magus Slayer—needed him. If he was to be useful… he needed to uncover the essence of Merlin's memo.

There was a way for him to not be a heavy toll on his Lady… to remain in this Underworld body but still be as powerful as he was in life, despite it all…

_Merlin… just what are you hinting at…? Is there… magic coming from the pill itself… the gift you bestowed upon us to stop me from stealing her life force?_

His eyes shot open as pain revolted his very core. Diarmuid flexed his fingers for his spear or sword and came up empty. Though the more mesmerizing sight was Kiritsugu—the man who was built but unmistakably the smaller of the two—was taking on… what the feck was that?!

No matter: now that he was out of the darkness he needed to support the man immediately. The towering figure was too large and muscular—even with the mighty Gae Dearg's shaft piercing through the armor of the beast, the gashes were feather light compared to the sheer capacity of the towering figure.

Undeterred by the melting pot of flesh that comprised his injuries, Diarmuid grabbed the hilt of Moralltach and searched deep within himself for that little red pebble. There was strength in the grand design of the mana granulated that settled deep within his bones.

Tapping into the chiasmic power of the great Mage of Flowers, bright, dazzling red mana danced around the crimson blade that had accompanied Diarmuid among his stoutest of warfare.

Stepping in front of the heaving, beaten-down Kiritsugu, the Knight glared into the paused behemoth's mask. "You have done enough: stand down, Magus Slayer."

"Tch… took your… time." Backing away from the brilliance that was the shimmering light surrounding the Saber, Emiya tossed him the Demonic Spear to accompany the sword. He received his precious Lance without taking his golden hues off the Minotaur; cufflinks were scattered around its bloodied form.

"You have my thanks," Diarmuid said in his soft timbre. "Now—you shall go down, beast!"

With a burst of speed, the Knight tested the might of the figure twice his size and height. He was a hefty, laughing beast, worthy of his sword and spear. The iron poles he used to deflect his attacks brought nothing but joy to the Dual-wielder.

Despite the agony that resided in his limbs, it was naught but a clash of cold steel. Each warrior was unrelenting in their lethal strikes that tested the will and ability of the other. A torrent of air accompanied their ferocious incursions, and threatened to destroy everything within sight.

Denuded feet lanced with a crashing force, destroying the ground beneath them.

The zephyr from inertia of crashing weapons and hard swings crudely sent Kiritsugu surging back. He could no longer see the movements carried out at such high speeds. Only the aftershock of their trading beats and the flurry of silvers and reds gave hint to the ferocity between the two.

This was a battle of Servants, that much he knew. Detested it, maybe, but it was this glory of the once-Hero that kept his hide alive.

It was a battle of legends. Diarmuid recalled this adrenaline pumping his blood (if he had any) when he battled the giant for the sweet berries. In that time, he triumphed by using the Giant's Iron club against him. Such things would not bode well here—but still, it reinvigorated him onward.

The Arena was moaning.

The underground shook with brutality.

The thumping from the hefty Minotaur’s steps was joined by yet another terrifyingly large foe; another skyscraper of a monster, chasing two very familiar faces.

Diarmuid felt joy and panic simultaneously, as he faced a multitude of dilemmas. His woman was barely keeping up with the frantic run of Emiya's boy. Behind them was a bearded Cyclops, with the thickest muscles he'd ever seen. Regardless of the gash furiously spilling scarlet, it rampaged behind them, ever ready for the kill.

Biting back the regret of not finishing his enemy sooner, instead of trading joyous, prideful strikes—he hated that he had inadvertently set them up for failure. Two enormous myths in their own, splendid light, that now threatened to spill their lives across the avenue.

Feigning a jab for the jugular, Diarmuid skimmed the underneath of the Minotaur, letting the bewildered foe sweep the edge of his pole into nothingness.

The dimension in which he transferred accepted his highest leap, and Moralltach's name was called. A blow to bring certain victory—that was all he called for. The Irishman needed this to perform the devastating multi-blade strikes envisioned by the great Manannan himself. The two truly living lives—that were caught in between the crossfire—needed this to be fatal.

Skin ripped (resembling the acoustics of tearing command strips) as the blades consumed the tender flesh. Vermilion gushed in sprays, and the steps of the beasts faltered just enough for Diarmuid to stab forward with Gae Dearg, straight into its chest. He drove the blade of lance as deep it could go, but it merely flailed the hard meat of the creature’s torso.

At his right, the Cyclops swung at him like a fly, batting him away like the vermin he was to it. Thankfully the hardened slap—with a hand almost the size of his entire body—gave way to release the spear from the chasm that was the Giant's chest.

Diarmuid's landing was anything but graceful, but he charged forward again, aiming for the exposed ankles of the semi-naked whale of a man.

"No… my… prey! How… dare… you… interrupt… **_MY FIGHT… MY DINNER!_ **"

The Knight skidded to a stop, launching left and miserably avoiding getting stomped on like an ant underneath a boot. Shock and confusion swirled within his eyes, as the Minotaur's pipe-like weapon collided with a force that sent shockwaves strong enough topple buildings!

"What in the hell!?" Shirou couldn't believe his eyes! The two mythical beasts roared at each other with raging resentment.

Both blathered for their right to crush and consume the four puny humans below. The quartet scurried like the cockroaches they represented to these two enormous entities, as each attempted to skewer the other. The swinging of a bludgeon, the hammering of fists and iron, and the herd of elephant-like actions had the lot underneath dodging their formidable moves.

It struck Kiritsugu then that this was their chance at cohesiveness; their opportunity to combine the strength of them all to take apart the enemy that struggled in vain against the other’s stone-gutting swings.

 _Shirou_ — _you, the Knight and myself, we can take down these monsters._ Kiritsugu turned to the woman. "Girl, how is your mana? Can you use your enhancement magic?"

Haley swivelled her head left and right, attempting to pinpoint the Magus Slayer's location over the hurdling of forces. "I can. But what good would it do against whatever the hell is making that ruckus?"

"Perfect. Alright—it is all or nothing, then." Locking eyes with the former Heroic Spirit, Emiya went on, "Keep up those strikes, I'll shoot the monsters in the openings you create with your legendary weapons. Your woman can increase all of our power, even if it is for a few seconds. _Shirou_ . He turned to the boy, who nodded with resolve. _Use whatever you got in that arsenal of yours to dwindle them down._

Haley rolled her lip under her teeth. This was a gamble, and it was one they had to win. "Diarmuid, guide me. I can't see, but I can follow directions."

"Take plentiful steps back, you will hide in the darkness in doing so," Diarmuid began, channeling his mana to his weapons once more. The earthquake from the battling giants had the three dispersing in different directions to avoid being swept underfoot. "On your left, and right, and directly in front of you, My Lady. Send your magic!"

In the center midst of darkness, Haley splayed her hands before her. Mana burst: she directed toward the teammates she hoped would take the boost.

Diarmuid felt it first; he charged for the tendons, for the bleeding eyes, and through the armor that was useless against his Gae Dearg's stabs. He knew that this ability of his Lady would only benefit the trio in short bursts. He needed to take down these clashing Myths—and quickly!

Kiritsugu circled with the speed granted from the woman, rounding the imposing threats high above him, as he shot at the gaping holes that the Knight created.

Like a jackhammer, the club spewed rubble in every direction. Even so, the triad spread apart, the random blast missing its mark. Before the Cyclops could kick the annoyances from him, the pipe came barreling down to meet the rough edge of his forearm, as the Minotaur swung forcefully.

The Cyclops (made angrier from the onslaught) slapped away the instrument and lunged for the horns that barreled towards him. Huge hands gripped the bull by the horns, thrashing the smaller of the two side-to-side, skimming him against the walls of the tombs.

However—in their grappling, the Minotaur dug his hands into the stripped tissues, ripping and drawing the organs from the thick flesh. Blood stormed from the gashes, as the Minotaur rode the velocity.

On a rampage, the Cyclops thrashed about, slinging his hands over the metal mask that protected the bastard's long face. He yanked at it, skimming his hands to the throat of the inhumane trash and elevated him to dangle above the ground.

His voice booming in the Arena, the Minotaur swung his hips and slammed the soles of his feet deep into the gash made from the spear long ago. It was then that the free hand of the Cyclops circled. The snap of a leg was loud enough to make even the strongest of warriors cringe.

BAM!

Kiritsugu had not hesitated to take advantage of this opening to blast the leg of the Minotaur clean off, showering those below with thick, vital fluid.

Haley sucked in a breath, dispelling her sorcery, "Scatter! Give me a second to recoup and send you the magic again!"

 _Shirou, Haley is preparing her magic again! Find a place to hide!_ Kiritsugu telepathically ordered, reloading his firearm and waiting for another opportunity.

Diarmuid, on the other hand, cycled the power from the Wizard's mage craft, and danced with the mangled towers. They redirected their attention to him—wind scraping the Arena, and fists and feet aiming to lop his head clean from his shoulders. Still, he would not relent. The determination to keep them away from his comrades fuelled his backbone. "Just… a little… more!"

"Everyone, I got a plan…!" Shirou screamed above the madness. He saw the desperation in the mutilated body of Diarmuid, his father maneuvering the battlefield and blasting the two incredible goliaths. "Haley, follow my voice… and direct as much of that enhancement to me!"

Channeling all of her internal power, she listened, followed the boy's hollow steps and his booming voice that carried over the insanity. Standing tall, she sent the wave. "Do it!"

 _Kid, she said do it! We will provide you cover!_ Kiritsugu followed the Knight's path. He was clearly herding the two Arena monsters together, keeping their weapons locked and focused solely on him. Kiritsugu fired his support, levelling the legs of the Cyclops first, bringing about the worst of convulsions.

Shirou snuck his way around the darkness, "Projection… start...! Search, select!" Hand outstretched, the image of the damned weapon that took his life the first time came into view as his auburn eyes shifted into shamrock. "I am… the bone of my sword…! Gae….BOLG!"

Haley dropped to her knees with an earth shattering crack. "All of you, take every last bit of it… and kick ass!"

"…..AAAHHHHH!" Shirou spewed saliva, feeling all his circuits crack and spin. The maroon spear—weaker than the original but powerful enough to suck the energy around them—tore through the air.

"Strike home, Gae Dearg….!" Diarmuid careened his beloved spear for the broken eye with all his might. Feet planted deep into the earth, the Knight sprang into the air, "I will find… the line dividing life and death! AHHH… FOUND IT, MORALLTACCCHHH!"

Blasts echoed down the corridors accompanied by the guttural cries of raging leviathans. Unable to withstand the sheer force of (equivalent to that of an atomic bomb), Haley soared backwards.

She could feel her skin tear apart from the wickedly sharp air and wreckage.

When the haze cleared, deformed and lacerated bodies littered the halls like trash—Diarmuid steadied himself with the hilt of Moralltach. Gae Dearg was lost somewhere within the rubble— he did not dare test his luck with it. That boy somehow recreated the mighty Gae Bolg’s anti-Army destruction, and the feat he’d accomplished astounded him. 

Instead, he searched the remnants of their battle for Haley. Was she alright? He had to persevere (for himself and her) before the exhilaration from the fight left him pulverised and helpless from his injuries once more.

Shoulders sagging, the Knight traveled flimsily across the ruin. He was tired—oh, so tired. At the corner of his eye, he saw Gae Dearg lodged deep within the Cyclops… he prayed to the Gods that it was buried deep enough to take its life.

Lowering on his haunches, Diarmuid disheveled the broken bits of Arena from his Lady and scooped her into his raggedy arms. Her body was decorated in lacerations, and her heavy breathing—coupled with the heavily painted red everywhere—had him reeling with dread.

But to his astonishment, her eyelids cracked open; the pools of sea-blue gandering at him with such resolve that he melted with relief. Adoration crept at his upturned lips, as the woman's small hand lovingly cupped his cheek, along with the most triumphant smile he'd ever seen cross her countenance.

"Diarmuid… I… can see you…" Haley said with a happy hush, lightly brushing his cool cheek. "I am so glad…"

Curling the woman underneath his chin, Diarmuid stood. "I am as well; rest now. You have done well."

Nodding into her Hero's chest, Haley let her half-lidded eyes droop to a close. Yeah, she was definitely going to feel this one later.

Turning, Diarmuid searched for the remaining contestants—his _teammates_ —who undeniably put in the utmost of work. He could not simply set them aside any longer—they were formidable in their own right. Powerful in their closeness, just as he and his Lady. They were admirable, and while they were to be enemies once again; respect had definitely been earned.

Yes, he could do his best to leave the past behind him. It was part of his recovery, was it not? Across the distorted titans, he saw the Magus Slayer almost mirroring him in his own gentleness, as he lifted the boy into his arms.

Honey orbs and onyx pits met, and both owners tipped their heads in the opposite direction. There was an undisputed agreement travelling between the two enemies yet allies. This battle was won together… Chivalry and honor called for respect.

It was then the lights of the Coliseum dimmed back on, and the thundering of the crowd cheered their victory. Healers in their white robes could be seen climbing the stage, and Diarmuid offered them his most charming of smiles, as he outstretched his arms for them to work their magic. Taking a final glance over his shoulder at the Magus Slayer and the boy, Diarmuid made a silent vow.

No matter the cost: he would allow his honor to forever be thankful for the help of the boy and his father... And even if they turned on them as the tournament might call for, or their ways of battle shall; he would still favor their strength as a cohesive team.

Yet Diarmuid would ensure—and he swore—he would take them down, when the time came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this chapter happened and man, it was a deusy. I kind of procrastinated it... I mean.. you got Shirou projecting the anti-army version of Gae bolg, Diarmuid's inner monologues with the phantom Merlin Haley trying not to be useless by giving all her magical energy to the trio fighting to save them all; This was just a fun all around chapter, and I hope you all enjoyed the tension, the fight, and the resolve! I know its been a wait, but hopefully one that was worth it. 
> 
> See you on the next chapter!


	51. Brief Intermission

Watching from above, the Panel began to deconstruct the incredible events of the Arena's recent battle. Cu licked his lips, nodding in astonished approval at the unexpected scene he had witnessed. So—the kid could replicate his Gae Bolg, a third version of his precious spear. There was the one in the Gate of Babylon, his trusty Spear of course, and now… that one. “Tch… whatcha lookin’ like that for, Gilgamesh…?” Across from him—arrogant as ever, seated in his overzealous throne chair—Gil seethed. 

“Did I give you permission to speak with me, cur…?” The King of Heroes shook his golden head, disdainfully flicking his wrist at the vermin who spoke to him. 

Shrugging his shoulder impassively, Cu Chulainn stretched from his own chair, casting a look to the fellow Panel who were working on updating the rankings, and magically reconstructing the Arena for the following events. 

“It was quite the show—as was expected of those four. The remaining contestants are now set, and we must refresh the board for their next battle,” Merlin hummed in delight. 

Loki remained passively quiet. He traded looks with Dolos (that were definitely not missed around the line of Hosts)... a silent confirmation between the scheming two. The God of Mischief and God of Trickery were itching for the next phase of the Tournament, as well as settling a long needed score. 

Their plotting had not transcended the Wizard’s clairvoyance, but he would wait patiently to see it come to fruition. He was not one to get entirely involved in others’ schemes, though throwing a wrench or two their way was not above him, either. Still, there was much to do, as he sent a wink towards the Greek Goddess. 

“My My, does time fly by~” Merlin sang, as he, Achilles and Cu all dissipated, awaiting the installment of entertainment.

————————————

“Alright, you may open them,” the Healer’s voice was timid, as she delicately pulled away the medical bandages from the woman’s crystal eyes. 

Dispelling a breath, Haley slowly fluttered her lids, the Healer’s pale face coming into focus. She took this moment to appreciate the gold of the woman’s iris—that was surrounded by the softest blue she’d ever seen. The woman had wavy, lustrous pink highlights woven into her matching baby blue hair that fluffed from her white hood. It reminded Haley of cotton candy. The random thought had Haley chuckling internally, as the relief of lying safely on a hospital cot (blessedly wrapped in Diarmuid’s arms) sank in.

“Thank you…” the telekinetic said, relaxing her tense frame backwards on the steady, sculpted chest behind her. She was so grateful to have her eyesight back; and vastly relieved that the man behind her no longer looked like he’d gotten into a losing fight with a lawn mower. 

The woman finally left the couple to their own devices, as she attended to the remainder of competitors… each shuffled into the bleachers, appearing equally aghast and exhausted. Kayneth and his Detainer caught the eyes of the pair; they scoffed in revulsion as they stayed far, far away from them.

Diarmuid chuckled, no longer fazed by the dings of his past. Holding on to grudges was not befitting the Knight he had sworn to be. His heart would not allow such hatred to overtake it ever again. There were more pressing matters than the past that cannot be altered—he vowed to focus on the future. with this lovely woman resting upon him. 

“My Lady, there is something I must discuss with you,” he began. Her gorgeous, azure gaze craned up to peer at him. 

Diarmuid explained that dream-like state he was in... detailing how Merlin’s voice was there, but not _quite_ ; how the state of his body was in a strange cross-point of Heroic Spirit and Underworld; and that small bead of red given to them after their battle with Cu Chulainn had properties of Merlin’s magic keeping him powerful. 

“So… the reason my circuits were in overload… was because the link between us made it that way… and we should have been utilizing that strange pebble that Merlin gave us…? Jeez… why couldn’t the Wizard tell us that? Everything’s gotta be some crazy… metaphoric puzzle with these guys…” Haley wanted to scream in frustration, but at least Diarmuid had figured it out. 

Knowing that there was still some sort of chance they could have against the competition… well, it was worth it in the end. It kind of felt like cheating… but by this point (and given who their opponents were)… Haley gandered at the remaining contestants. 

Medea was among them, and she was in her true, Heroic Spirit form, like the Panel. The Greek Magus didn’t even attempt to conceal her magical competence. The man with her was like Diarmuid; heavily powered by the mana from the Elf-like woman, making him just as formidable. 

Kayneth and his Detainer were yet a mystery, but Haley knew that the Magus was not one to be taken lightly. He was renowned at the Clock Tower. Multi-talented in the ways of magecraft, and the rune user was equally as qualified. Part of her still trembled in fear, knowing full well he was working alongside her father in some way. 

The thought had crossed her mind that maybe _her father_ was one their sponsors. It was a heavy burden that she entrusted to her Knight, who finished his recount of what he was now expecting of them. 

Turning over in his lap, she gazed into his sweet-as-honey eyes, thumbing his fuller, lower lip. “If that keeps you strong—and me not in a frenzy—I am all for it.” 

Diarmuid chuckled, grazing the pad of his index finger over the thumb that rested on his lip. Though she had not mentioned it, he was sure his woman was still recuperating from their separation and the perilous round they had survived by the thinnest of hairs. 

Fingers traveling her narrow chin, he pulled her face to his, thrilling in the sweet taste of her mouth against him. The kiss was cut short, as Briscella began her odious announcements.

“Now I know you’re all tired, but the next round shall commence in just a few hours… As you can see, your numbers have been tallied, and the single match-ups have finally begun. Rest, formulate plans, and take a look at the television screen for your first round of match-ups! This will be the only announcement until the next fight begins!” 

“You're kidding… we are to fight again so soon?” Haley slumped, deflating like a hot air balloon against Diarmuid’s frayed jumpsuit. The last she wanted to do was be in peril yet again, not after they’d just been reunited, and having finally retrieved her eyesight. 

Diarmuid fiddled with his Lady’s tangled strands of hair. She had every right to worry. One of her stature being placed on one constant battle after the next would definitely be cause enough for alarm and overexertion on her part. Perhaps that was the ploy. Thinking on it further, it would seem they were trying to speed up the process. 

Placing a chaste kiss to her forehead, the Knight continued his light strokes of his beautiful woman. For him—it did not matter if she were dressed in the most detailed of clothes, or as she was now—shaken and torn, tired and dreary. She would still shine brighter than the sun, and would find herself victorious in this tournament, with him by her side. That much he knew for certain.

“We shall be fine, Lady Haley,” the Lancer said simply, as she adjusted herself to lay flat across his lap. 

“I know, I trust in you more than anyone…” Haley laid back, and took his dog tag into her delicate touch. “I just wish… we had more time. Time to relax, to recoup after that hell we just endured… but…” 

Diarmuid inclined his head in understanding, for he too wished the same. The battlefield had always been his favorite place to be. Another duel, another strategy to come up with, and defending the order in which he promised to serve. When bestowed the lovespot, he knew he would have to give in to that kind of living, however…

Now there was more at stake—much more, which he had longed for. He retrieved the loyalty he’d been denied in his last two lives, but now… he wished to explore it. To do as much as he could with it, given the grim ending he assumed was coming their way once this farce of a competition ended. 

“The time to truly relax shall come. It might be far and few and in between as of this moment, but allow yourself to rest upon me. We are instructed to stay here, so we should make the best of it. Recover your strength.” 

Haley pursed her lip. “I barely did anything…”

“I know, but the mental stress has become a burden, I am sure…that, and employing all of your magical energy to sustain three combatants taking down Giants? My Lady… you don’t give yourself enough credit for the deeds that you have performed.” 

“Mmmm…I guess… you’re right.” Trailing her index finger down his chest, Haley exhaled in defeat. “A few minutes… then.” 

Smiling, Diarmuid swiveled his hand underneath her side bangs. Just a few minutes. 

——————–————

Food was a welcome distraction. Emptying her stomach in the Arena was not one of her best moments—the monsters really did smell the way they looked. It was embarrassing, really… but at least the light chicken (coated in a BBQ dressing with a side of mashed potatoes and freshly squeezed orange juice) was the perfect refreshment. 

Haley browsed the area. During her nap the Observers had unfolded tables, and spread a buffet. It was a simple gesture, she guessed, but with the very few contestants left… the board hanging on the wall—specifying the next matches—left her skin crawling. 

She stuffed her face with another bite of the tender meat. A few more hours, then they would face off against the estranged couple across the way. Every few moments, the woman gave her a sly wink and the man cackled... as if her reaction to their weirdness was humorous in some way.

She slipped them her poked tongue.

Diarmuid’s light chuckle twisted Haley’s expression; his soft sound left warmth in her cheeks. “You’re making fun of me.”

“No, of course not,” Diarmuid raised his hands in mock surrender. “I simply find amusement in your ability to remain so… coltish, despite it all. Especially with our next opponents.” 

“I’m childish at heart, sue me. Now, here..” Before he could reject it, Haley propped her fork directly into his unsuspecting mouth. “Eat.” 

Chewing with a blundered expression, the Knight held his most sprightly smile. “Jeez.. you know I need not replenish myself as you do, my Lady…?”

Turning her nose up, Haley scoffed, “Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it just the same. Eat.” 

One would be a fool to incur a woman’s wrath. Diarmuid knew better than anyone that when a maiden’s heart was set: not much (if anything at all) would get in her way. Shaking his head lightly, he dramatically opened his mouth, gesturing, “Alright, _servant girl,_ feed your Knight.” 

“Servant girl…? Huh, the only servant I see is you, Mr. Lancer,” Haley plopped the morsel into his ready mouth, then thought on the subject a bit more. “Hey… how different… do you think the Grail War would have been like, or what one with the two of us would be… like?” 

Chewing thoughtfully, Diarmuid considered that prospect. Anything he felt would be better than having _Kayneth_ as a Master. Though, the fourth Holy Grail War was not… a typical one. There was the Assassin and the way he handled the majority of the… competition. He’d assumed Haley would get along with the boisterous King of Conquerors. The burly man’s master was rather reluctant, seeming nearly terrified to be anywhere. 

But then, there was the Caster— and his disturbing penchant for deriving pleasure on the backs of suffering civilians. The mad warrior was so far gone and deranged that he caused nothing but trouble whenever and wherever he appeared. It was far more dangerous than one would have expected, and nothing that had Diarmuid expected. There was no glory or honor, contrary to what he had once perceived. 

Even if Haley had been his Master, she would have been younger, no? A teenager on the run from her father, no less. The mere thought of her accompanying him in that madness left a vile taste on his tongue. 

However… a different Grail War—one maybe where the Holy Chalice was not corrupted, and a better Master selected, with Haley at his side… one could imagine their chemistry on that front. If their battles were to go similarly as to how they have progressed against the Heroic Spirits—they might have stood some sort of chance.

In all fairness, would he have enjoyed that prospect, and the opportunity to build a better relationship with his Lady? He… might have actually have sustained a proper wish. He would have… convinced her to utilize the Grail to end her father’s bounty, and his wish would be… to be human. A true, second chance at life. One with the beauty and heart of the woman he was sure he would have made the same connection with.

It might have been different, and the situation may not even call for their togetherness… he wouldn’t remember (or might not have) the hells he went through with Kayneth, but he could find… Happiness. A path that would lead him to the loyalty of true love, with no love spot or Lords. If only… life could be so simple.

“Yeah… it could be, couldn’t it?” Haley echoed his take on the matter. She had loved Diarmuid’s legend for as long as she could remember, and meeting him in person… having him protect her and winning a Grail War… wishing to be together and eradicating her father’s bounty to do so.

She definitely could dream. 

At the very least (despite what summoning him herself could have been); without the tragedies Diarmuid had faced, they might not have become what they were. Her Knight might not have ever overcome the hurdles of his low self-esteem. It really would have been an entirely different world, and one she was not sure was manageable. 

“Alright, it is time to continue our lovely little tournament! It’s what we have all been waiting for, the single match-ups! You all shall finally test yourselves against one another in this tourney, and in doing so, will bring the remaining pairs to our final challenges. Now, come forth—” Briscella skimmed through the names— “Medea and Kuzuki, and Merrick and Alcer. Let this battle be of great entertainment!” 

Medea rolled her blue-velvet eyes, smoothing her hair over her ear. Entertainment, pfft. There was no one in this tournament that could match her, and her beloved. Still, she would… amuse the crowd. 

Watching the Greek majestically stroll, with her phlegmatic man at her side, Haley gripped Diarmuid’s hand. “So, we get to watch them fight. That’s new.” 

“Indeed, but it can prove useful. Let us observe.” The Knight leaned forward, his elbows balancing on his knees as he became transfixed on the screen. This was indeed a rare opportunity to study their opponents’ styles, strengths, and weaknesses; a small gift that neither would squander. 

And if nothing else... it was somewhat pettishly gratifying to watch someone other than themselves suffering in the Arena, as they took what little respite was granted them.

————————————

While the competitors glued their eyes to the battle, Kiritsugu ducked behind a pillar. His match was not coming up for a bit, and he was summoned. Once again, the Norse God had disguised himself, this time as a fly that buzzed around its target. 

His voice came clear as day, etching its way into the Assassin’s mind with all Loki had to offer.

Wrath charged the battery of Loki’s words. Kiritsugu Emiya had _betrayed_ him. The set-up for the scoundrel’s demise was right there—he was strung up by the chains of death. All the lousy man had to do was pull the correct lever. And yet…

The spiky-haired man had done the opposite. He falsified his unawareness of what each option would do. He’d purposefully disobeyed him and allowed the two love-birds to progress. For what purpose? While defying the very help that he had been given? It was blasphemous!

Kiritsugu listened to Loki’s scolding, knowing full well the ramifications of receiving the anger of a God. Part of him wanted to laugh at just how… _furious_ the small dot hovering around him was. It was comical, really. 

“What exactly… is your fixation on those two? The pair have a match against you, and with another member of the Panel. Along with that, as long as I live, you can utilize me to make your plans come forward, no? So I don’t quite understand how—”

“And that is exactly it! You do _not understand_ what is at play here. You must do exactly as I instruct. Had you not done so—I would not have had to punish you as I have.” 

Expression souring, Kiritsugu shot a glance to Shirou. _Punishment._ Whatever Loki had intentionally created against them was detrimental to the boy’s body, being that it was still in the testing phase. How much his circuits can handle, how _human_ his form would be. All of it was almost… destroyed. Torn down.

Shirou had risked himself to protect him, and the others in this tournament; including the two that Loki had made their responsibility, for one reason or another. It was about time he at least clued him in on something—anything—besides these obnoxious threats. He was done sacrificing everything that the boy had accomplished to take down figures from his past—beings that he’d imagined he’d never have to burden himself with again. What the hell were they doing? 

“Tell me what it is, that has you so… in such a rise.” 

Despite his puny stature, the rage radiating off the insect was tangible. _Misdirected_. Emiya knew that much. 

“My plans are of… no importance to you. As if you could be trusted entirely with them, given you could not even follow a simple direction of elimination—something that should come naturally to you,” Loki spoke the words as if they were potent poison. “My support has been enough for you. Yet you disrespect it. I should have your head.”

“Your support… has put me on the front lines of your little game with Merlin.” It was a matter-of-fact statement. Kiritsugu was no fool—he’d witnessed the competitive trade-offs. The way the couple had been supported. He would not entirely take the blame. 

An exasperated sigh left the buzzing creature, as it landed directly on the lean shoulders of the hunched man. “Of course it has; and you and the boy have entered into an agreement that outlined as much. Merlin is suspicious, aiding Athena to an extent. My fixation… with those two is based on his own. He keeps them alive… why? I see no merit in doing so—but if Merlin is trying to achieve something with them, I must stop it, using my best weapons at hand.” 

For once, they agreed. The Knight and the woman had no goals of their own besides the romance this place had elicited for them. Everything Kiritsugu had witnessed pointed in the direction that they just wanted to _survive._ What could the Great Wizard possibly expect of them? 

“Would it have something to do with the curse that has been alleviated from the former Heroic Spirit?” Kiritsugu enquired, as he stroked his stubble. 

Loki pondered on that declaration. The name Diarmuid Ua Duibhne had been removed from the world’s memories by the counter force. The Throne of Heroes rejected the Evil Spirit, as it attempted to restore itself from the dark link between itself and the Grail. Because of this, Diarmuid had bypassed the judgement of King Minos, Aeacus, and Radamanthus. 

“Wait… you said, ‘alleviated’?” 

“Ah, right. I have yet to tell you. But being paired with them this round, I can say for certain the Irish Lancer is no longer plagued by the evils of the world, nor the curses that still eat at me when given the chance.” 

There was a prolonged silence; one that Kiritsugu had not expected from the trickster. In the background, exclamations from the Onlookers could be heard. Restless murmurs across the remaining opposition at the Witch’s display of strength carried past his ears, as the God contemplated.

“Hmm… that is… useful information.” Was that all the Norse Myth had to say? Tch, Kiritsugu would figure as much. “Yes… quite interesting indeed. Be gone with you, then. This… revelation has just given me an idea.” 

Flickering out of existence, the Assassin was left in the corner to contemplate what on earth their conversation signified. Was he still needed for anything? Probably—in whatever grand scheme that came across Loki’s mind. 

Well, whatever was going on in the background, Emiya had his own plans—that he and the kid had to implement. If this discussion had enlightened him on anything; it was that whatever promises that God had made him—they were dangling like a piece of meat in front of a dog on a treadmill. Loki was _toying_ with his and Shirou’s well-being. 

And no way in Hell was he going to fall into whatever trap the God was laying out for them. Kiritsugu was not inclined to care for the games being played among the panel. The only thing that mattered was getting Shirou home safely. That, and getting the proper God of the Underworld on his and the boy’s side.

Even if that meant pretending—just a while longer—that he was unaware, and yet wanting to stay in Loki’s good graces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A subtle chapter that will carry over into the next fight... and some spice. A little thought provoking for our characters... Hopefully you enjoyed their respite, and look forward to more!


	52. Couples against Couples

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how long it took to do this chapter. Hope you enjoy the update!

There was no terrain. No special effects, just the grand landscape of tile and ever-expanding blank space. A shimmer surrounded them, and behind the protection of the force-field exhibited the expecting faces of the spectators. High above and across the ways lingered the Panel and the Announcer who was narrating the beginning of the match.

Haley’s eyes couldn’t roll any further to the back of her head. The woman had said plenty, but her job _was_ to enliven the masses, so it was to be expected Briscella would chatter on. It gave them the time to ponder her and Diarmuid’s plan of attack. 

Their opponents were ones Haley and Diarmuid remembered from some time ago. When the tournament called for interviews for the winners against the Panel: these two were there. They hadn’t said much, but they didn’t seem to take anything seriously. They were married, according to Briscella’s chatter. 

Now the couple was pitted against them, and their win would be the other Forsakens ‘deaths’. It wasn’t necessary to end the Detainer’s life but… the idea was still something that made Haley shiver down to her very bones. Despite her previous actions, she was still at a loss as to how she felt about being personally responsible for sending these souls to Tartarus. Sure, they had already committed whatever evil deeds in life that had them sanctioned to such a fate, but…

The Psychic knew very well not everyone in the Underworld deserved the outcomes they were granted. Like the couple who longed to be together in spite of their differences—the Irishman she had come to save. Though one glance upward at the tall figure next to her eliminated any doubt that she would take this match by the wheel and steer them towards victory. It would just be on her and Diarmuid’s terms, not according to the conditions of the illustrious panel. 

Haley was proud that she and her Knight shared “the same codes of honor”, as he had proclaimed. Both sought only to be victorious, with a fair battle befitting Knights. They had discussed prior to their matches—and once, a long time ago in that six day Arena challenge—just how to do that without sullying either’s pride and principles. 

“If only, if only, the signal to fight—come… on…!” The bob-haired brunette woman across from them tore beneath her sorrel eyes. Beside her (clothed in orange) her husband nodded his agreement, smiling slyly.

Such dramatics brought about a chuckle from Diarmuid. He too, grew tired of the banal. His hands itched to test his blades against the two across from him. Words were nothing on the battlefield unless a silver tongue swept the enemy underfoot. 

Anticipation was a funny thing. Upon further inspection—neither of the two had any weapons… Which led him to believe they were both Magi. What could their skills possibly be? The events prior to their standoff at this very moment left little information on the two. Probably a purposeful thing, for it would keep the match fair for both opponents.

Was that woman truly not done riling the crowd? Just as the thought crossed Diarmuid’s mind, Briscella at last signaled their start. 

The seconds that stretched by finally released him from the confinements of patience, and Moralltach and Gae Dearg were ready to meet their targets. Haley would be his rear support, keeping her eyes peeled for any foul play. The smiling couple positioned between them would fall.

Thoughts engulfed the dual-wielder’s brain, centering on being mindful of his opponents since bore no distinguishable weapons. It was decided that surely, Magic would be the forefront of the battle. 

Her fingers snapping, the woman’s grin stretched wider; Moralltach hummed in objection as it recoiled from an invisible sheet. “A barrier…” Diarmuid voiced without concern, as he brought Gae Dearg over his shoulder. 

His spear’s blade segmented it with finesse. The Bounded Field could not slow this Heroic Spirit; however, hissing at his feet captured his immediate attention. 

“What is that?” Haley readied to assist Diarmuid with her telekinesis. “... Eh?!” From beneath her, the same cat-like familiars manifested. 

The felines were as white as the Arena’s flooring, possessing a sharp, steely texture as they clawed at scrawny ankles. The woman kicked and flung them away with mental energy. Every time she attempted to heed her Knight’s situation, the animals’ numbers grew. 

Diarmuid was thrown off-beat, forced to drive his spear and sword into the obnoxious pests constructing themselves out of the very ground itself. A horde of magical cats’ blood was the last thing he wanted to decorate the floor with, as there was no glory in fighting these things. In fact, that very statement reminded him of the time he fought Caster’s monsters during his time as Arturia’s left hand.

Though this battlefield was hardly the place to think of such things, the memory inclined him to ponder—how were the Magi creating these things? In Caster’s situation: he had a spell-book that gave him the ability to summon endless creatures. What was this couple’s shtick? 

Elicia tapped the edge of her fingers to her plump cherry lips. “Ooh-la-la, I like that spear. It severs magic~! Just look, my dearest Rolfe, how it easily tears through the familiars.” 

“It does, it does! We must steal that fine weapon, and procure a different strategy!” Rolfe agreed, encasing his wife in his arms. “Shall I?” 

“Please do, I cannot wait any longer! Come, my beasts—ready yourselves!” The woman snuggled into her husband’s shoulder, her hand fanning her magical creations to retreat. 

Diarmuid’s sonar-like hearing caught bits of their conversation over the ruckus of felines nipping and clawing at him; he readied his weapons for whatever their new form of attack would be. He heavily debated leaping to lessen the proximity between them, and perhaps it was the way his stance adjusted, or how his eyes targeted his enemies as he contemplated his strike, that brought about the next move.

A snapping sound crackled in the Arena. Air blew, causing the Knight to protectively cross his arms in front of his eyes. A build-up of vigour spun around his person, though the two had not so much as even budged. It was an electrical current—and it caged in Diarmuid like an animal. 

Haley recognized the magic. Either the husband or wife had an affinity for electricity and it threatened to fry the man at the center of it. She was unsure if telekinetic waves could disperse the spellcraft—but she steadied her attention and made the attempt. 

Half-lidded, her eyes twitched maniacally. Manipulating the current created peculiar waves in her psyche, but it was not impossible to counter the bolts. What was strange was that the pair had refused to move. These two were itching to fight just as Diarmuid was, no? So was their perfect plan to zap them where they stood? Well, if Haley had any say in the matter—

The lightning streamed towards their puzzling opponents almost too easily; Diarmuid was reduced to a blur of motion as he exploited this mild advantage. It soon became apparent that the competition anticipated such action… A grim wink and a passionate kiss were shared between them, before the woman vanished and the man leaped.

Diarmuid’s blades chimed as they slid across the concrete, constructing colorful sparks. Confusion wrinkled his eyebrows. “What just—” His Warrior’s intuition dragged the length of his spear behind him. 

Arms handling the weight of his enemy’s new short blade, the Knight swivelled his foot directly into tangerine linens. Crunching resounded in the force that propelled both men in opposite directions. He angled, shifting his weight from this right leg to his left. Bright eyes flickered in the ephemeral amount of time granted to his partner, worry setting in. Surely she was doing better than he, or at least he hoped it to be true. 

Haley blinked—nothing made sense anymore. What were their names again? Ralph and Elina or something? Well, Elicia straight-up disappeared. The Psychic presumed the lightning to have been a distraction; pure instinct drove her downward into a belly slide. 

The skin around her spine burned, the back of her shirt splitting open as she narrowly escaped the bolt. Rolling over onto her back, her azure eyes locked onto a brilliance in the clear atmosphere, just before she utilized her telekinetic energy to sling herself away from the woman who had emerged. There was considerable distance between them, but Haley did not know what to expect. Another lightning strike—or would the woman vanish once more? 

The wait-and-see approach was a dangerous tactic but Haley felt she had no other choice. When the older woman faded as she sprang, Haley stood still and heightened her senses. Ears proficient like a bat’s, and with vision as deft as an eagle’s, she scanned the Arena for the wife’s next appearance. It was a simple whizzing sound that clued in Haley on the Magus’s strike to her left side. 

Elicia flailed her arms and legs, grappling with the unseen might of whatever had flung her backwards. She could only assume this was the work of Mystical eyes—but her gut told her it was something else… something more refined and precise. A Psychic was a _rare_ find, with abilities outside the limitations of magic. She could manage against that, after seeing the disadvantages of overtaxing the ability.

She would never forget that battle on the ocean, where this girl found ways to move both herself, and objects around her. It had granted them victory, after all. It was incontrovertibly lovely, and Elicia was almost bummed she could not take the woman’s eyes for herself. 

Grinning madly, Elicia vowed she would have her prize at the end of this: whether it would be in the form of the woman’s head or her beloved’s spear, only the match would decide. 

It was a strain to magically break down her composition, against her enemy’s hold—but it couldn’t keep her for long. The tingling sensations that manipulated her were _sensible,_ however slight. She just needed to coordinate her attacks effectively… Or! What a bright idea! She could even challenge the mind mover’s range, and test the waters as to exactly _how_ these telepathic powers worked.

Hidden from the world for a few seconds more, the woman laughed hysterically. 

Elicia— _that_ was her name—darted in and out across the playing field. Each time she reappeared, her daggers aimed for her vitals. All the while, pesky feline familiars (woven from the tangible material of the stadium, Haley deduced) continued to draw blood from the telekinetic’s body. 

She inhaled hard through her nose, rolling her lips together as she countered one deathly strike after another, kicking and hurtling beasts left and right. If lightning were to come next—she highly doubted that it could be countered. If not for the enhancement magic, Haley would already be dead. 

Her enemy was moving rapidly, outdoing her at every turn. Her laugh carried through the air, irritating Haley to no end. The obvious enjoyment the woman gleaned from breaking apart another’s flesh and attempting to end one’s life, disgusted her. Haley had no intention of killing Elicia—but with each pressing attack that tore down her defenses—that revolting choice whispered more stridently in her ear. 

If she would but throw her morals over the ledge, Haley’s counter-act would be obvious: she could use the woman’s reappearing to her advantage. She had already calculated the milliseconds it took to conjure up the magic to teleport her foe, and the delay—however slight—gave her enough leeway to control her weapon and turn it against her.

Only—that tactic would grossly contravene anything the Psychic was willing to do. Even if it were to come down to choosing between her own life and death, she’d attempt to find a way out of it; she would try to find a way to cripple her enemy without compromising her moral code at the same time. The question was—just _how_?

Diarmuid dropped Moralltach and spun Gae Dearg with a ferocity that rivalled a speeding bullet. The electrical discharge that grabbed his attention from the warring women had him deflected in channeling the current using the velocity of his spear. However, that method wasn’t entirely the best course of action, as sparks blistered his skin and grew ever more intense.

“If I cannot deflect, then—” Diarmuid ducked low, eyes darting between each battle. Trading mental messages with his Lady, he waited. The plotting warrior merely needed one strike to be more powerful, but less coordinated… _THERE_. 

With meticulous precision and calculation, Gae Dearg slanted in its pivot as it took a crackling lightning’s blow head-on. Just as swiftly, Diarmuid batted the streak to his left. Confident the fulmination would hit its mark—no instant allowed to be wasted—the butt of his lance carried his weight. In one fell swoop he snagged Moralltach from the surface and vaulted.

“Uuuuughh!” Injuries formed just as quickly as they were healed, Haley huffed. She scanned the Arena, looking for any sort of—

Fizzing settled in her eardrums as her eyes locked with Diarmuid’s. His ask was loud and clear. 

“I’m counting on you, Diarmuid. This’ll leave me wide open,” she mumbled to herself, channeling all her energy.

A potent psychic wave expelled the annoying varmints every which way. Their Master came into full view—she was much too close. 

A resounding boom, a flash of light: it knocked the enthralled woman’s hip with a force hard enough to topple a truck. Haley witnessed her enemy’s body tumble and drag with trickling bouts of glittering discharge. Trailing her lower lip with the tip of her tongue, she slammed the Elicia-woman’s face into the cement. 

She had been using her mindwork passively (after overworking herself in the past round only hours before); Haley remained cautious. The last thing she and her Knight needed was her collapsing amidst battle. Now she was aware the woman could teleport, keeping her in place was a top priority—lest their plot was to have her assassinate either herself or Diarmuid with a shady, sneaky attack. 

Locked with her face smashed into the flooring, teeth gnashing together, Elicia forced herself upward. Her once-beautiful countenance twisted with rage. “So… she utilized… her mental capacity to hold down even the smallest of molecules… impressive.” 

Irritated, she planted her face into the flooring to muffle her chant. The bitch thought she was so smart and strong—well, she would prove her wrong. 

_My Dearest, let us enact Phase Two._ Lip cocking at the corner, Rolfe regarded his wife’s scheme. Worry had set in that he had just helped to _electrocute_ her, but her tough-as-nails, flawless body recovered quickly. Only one as great as she was could accomplish such a feat (after all _his_ teaching, of course).

Now, as the unexpected power of this tall, muscular man came barreling down on him like a ton of bricks, he hardened his body (arm raised) to block the sword’s blow. 

The clash rang louder than church bells. Rolfe’s knees trembled, and his other bicep took the following strike of the lance at full pressure. The Arena erupted where he stood, blocks of the matter expelling like a bomb had detonated. 

“Damn! Now that, _that_ **is** POWER!” With his medium build, the Husband had to compensate. He took the sheer force of the assault; unbending at the knees, he propelled upward like a coiled spring. 

The move thrust Diarmuid rearwards. “Now—that was unexpected, but quite fascinating. Tell me, how _does_ one use magic in such a way to make his body harden like iron?” 

His opponent scoffed. “I’m not giving away any secrets—oh ho, no, no, I won’t… Though you, your ability is impeccable. Definitely better than expected from a man who relies on _charm_ spells to snare his ladies.” Rolfe waggled his eyebrows suggestively with his last remark. 

Diarmuid’s casual expression immediately turned grim. “You do me a grave insult, saying such things. You’ll regret those words, as you know nothing of which you speak.” 

“Heh, no? My wife told me—you worked some sort of magecraft on her, trying to sway her married heart. How **_dare_** you?! She… is _MINE_!” Snarling through his gritted teeth, Rolfe planted his feet deep into the stadium.

The Magus sank deeper into the ground, while his body expanded. His arms grew thicker, as his skin darkened to obsidian. His legs elongated, growing his fingers meters taller. “I… shall crush your _indecent, lecherous_ skull!” 

Biting back his aggravation from the obnoxious misunderstanding his lovespot yet again caused, Diarmuid contemplated. Would a body turned to steel be considered something Gae Dearg could split through? Could it fall under being considered armor—another thing penetrable by his Lance? If not, Rolfe’s figure had to have a weak spot, and Diarmuid would dedicate time to find it if his Spear did not prevail. 

The support of his Lady subjugating the human—at the minimum—allowed him to focus on the combatant before him. 

Rolfe’s mobility suffered from the added weight. The way he moved across the Arena was similar to that of a monolithic automaton. Every step he took shattered the tiles, but the Irish Legend readied his defense so he could analyze this new peak of his opponent’s power. Diarmuid’s mental gears already turned towards formulating another plan.

The ambience of the fray was imbued with a disturbed whining. Haley could not risk taking her eyes off Elicia—but that sound could _not_ be a good sign. As anticipated, the familiars she’d barely managed to fend off had all transformed in size.

Behind the Magus they grew, their twisted, pasty forms yowling unsettling battle cries. The Psychic’s heart filled with dread. Manipulating one’s bodily makeup to withhold their movements was not an easily accomplishable feat, and she had revised the tactic over only a short period of time. 

Now—as the theatrical show that was their skirmish quaked with beasts—Haley attempted to persuade her unease to die down and let her focus. If Diarmuid could remain cool and collected on the battlefield at all times, so could she. Of course, she wouldn’t aspire to be the warrior he was… that certainly wasn’t her agenda, but she _could_ be strong… _had_ to be, if she and the Knight were to make it out together. 

Burning brighter than the sun with strong resolve, Haley dragged Elicia closer. It dawned on her that this magic would not be possible if the person conducting it was unconscious. Her lip nurtured by her top and bottom teeth, she strengthened her metaphysical grip on the woman. 

Ambushed from all sides, the Psychic drew in a breath and enhanced herself again, carrying herself with the enemy. A thunderclap rattled the Arena, rupturing the playing field (where Haley once stood) with debris and a familiar wickedly roaring noise. She was a mouse travelling a maze, dodging the traps symbolized by the crazed felines. 

It took all her might to haul Elicia along the ride of whizzing air, exploding terrain and escaping powerful quadrupeds. Angry howling from _both_ enemies hampered Haley’s concentration. Thankfully, it wasn’t commotion enough for the Magus to notice, as the maneuvering woman found her footing. From the depths of the Arena, an eager cry from the newly-formed familiar pounded closer.

“You can’t escape them forever!” Her enemy screeched.

Haley didn’t even bother to entertain the woman in her frontal vision.

Instead, she strengthened her enhancement magic anew and lunged into a sprint. The slender wrist of the crazed woman snared in her grip as Haley met the beast head-on. 

The loudest crack stifled the aggravated shout that permeated the air. All at once the bawling cats fragmentized to their original roots of asphalt and concrete. Elicia fell limply to the ground. 

Haley bent at the knees, chest rising and falling harshly as she pressed her index and middle finger to the woman’s jugular. “Phew.” A pulse. Thank goodness. For a second there, she’d thought she’d slammed Elicia’s skull too forcefully against the robust creature. 

“One down… one to go,” she muttered under her heaving breaths. Carefully, she mentally layered the crumbled Arena over Elicia’s arms and legs. “Might not hold through teleportation but… it’s something, I guess.” 

Waves of energy pulsed, sending chills down Haley’s spine as she glanced to the fight responsible for the aftershock. 

Diarmuid and Rolfe collided with enough force to bring down the stadium. Gae Dearg’s blade temporarily broke through the cast iron strength of the other man’s body. Each wound that met its mark dissolved underneath the reforming structure that represented his hardened skin. 

The onslaught of critters lashing for Diarmuid’s legs and torso certainly did not help matters. If he were at the end of those massive claws, he imagined he would be split in three—what a mess that would be. 

Fists flew in a flurry; Moralltach sang against iron. Gae Dearg slanted for Rolfe’s exposed neck, but the back of his hand took the brunt of it, skin tearing open after receiving the blow—the wound soon sealed away again, much to the Knight’s added frustration.

Rolfe _would not_ cease the insults, constantly slandering his honor under the misconception he was attempting to steal away his woman. Diarmuid had tried at least once to rectify the matter, but it proved fruitless as the man’s deranged mental state seemed to worsen. 

Bashings were traded instead. Bludgeon after bludgeon tired the muscles in the Irishman’s arms. Diarmuid swiped his foot at the off-stance his sword created. The jerk took his fall and attempted to ram his rock-like physique towards Diarmuid’s torso—fortunately, Diarmuid was much faster than the brute, as he took the opportunity to leap onto the swiping monstrous beast’s claw. 

Rolfe gaped at the galling Warrior latching onto his wife’s familiar, similar to a bird perching on a branch. 

What balls the bastard had! Just one touch of his spear untangled the magic and broke the creatures down. He even landed like a graceful nilly prick. His disgust grew when he realized it was _not_ the spear his wife wanted, but rather—

Glimpsing the battle he’d entrusted to Elicia, his eyes widened in horror to see she was incapacitated, with that wretched woman standing over her. 

All control Rolfe had toppled over like a teetering tower of blocks.

Diarmuid brought Gae Dearg’s blade downward with all his might, carrying the attention of his opponent back to him as they clashed together in a powerful blast. Lady Haley had disabled one of their enemies, and it would be her gift that would assist him in making a quick, fatal blow. 

_My Lady_ — _if you have enough energy remaining, your mental prowess can help me finish him for our victory,_ Diarmuid telepathically stated as he blocked the shorter man’s attempt to break from their exchange of swipes and thrashes. 

_Okay, tell me what you need me to do, and quickly! I don’t know how long she’ll be out!_ His Lady promptly responded.

Diarmuid alerted her to his plan, suddenly taking a hit to his collarbone. The crushing sound of bone no doubt travelled as far as to the audience. Not allowing the powerful strike to hinder him, the Knight countered by parrying the next blow using his ambidexterity. 

Bright specks illuminated Rolfe’s person when Diarmuid separated himself from his competitor. Innate knowledge warned him that this emission of light was nothing good. As predicted, the orange jumpsuit dissolved completely as the man burst forth in an electrifying gleam. 

Bolts of lightning danced around Rolfe—his pupils dilated so darkly that they were as black as charcoal. 

“This is the end for you **_both_ **!” the deranged man roared. 

Raven locks swayed side-to-side as Diarmuid shook his head. “No, it is not I who finishes here,” he said in a low timbre. He dared not even look at the woman who inched her way closer through the rubble behind his opponent.

Feeling magical energy amplifying his being, the Irishman sprang forward. The crashing booms of the storm were deafening, and the rattling of the Arena was loud enough to terrify the weak of heart, as Rolfe hurtled towards him. 

Diarmuid gracefully maneuvered through the strings of yellow with masterful precision. He knocked the discharge away and continued his zig-zagging across the Arena to his attacker. The two of them came face-to-face.

“I’ve got you!” Rolfe shouted triumphantly—as the shocking current electrified Diarmuid’s skin.

The Irishman grimaced from the fumes of sweltering flesh but a cocky grin perked his lips. _Now, my Lady_!

Haley didn’t hesitate. She dragged the jerk backwards (much to his bafflement) and locked him in place for Gae Dearg to meet its target. Whatever coated the naked man’s light skin black began to retract as if it were being wiped out by an eraser. 

The Spear’s blade exited through Rolfe’s back, and was yanked free by the Knight, who stood tall. Sighing, Haley sank into the pavement as the barrier surrounding them dissolved, and the crowd’s calls filled her senses. 

“Seriously, can’t they just… shut up.” The telekinetic rubbed her temples, feeling a headache attacking her brain.

Diarmuid strapped his weapons to his exterior and stepped away from the fallen Rolfe. The man’s eerie eyes were fixated upon him, but his entire frame was frozen in place by the defeat. An Observer climbed on top of the wide platform and jerked his head towards his Lady. 

Taking a final gander at his opponent, Diarmuid leaned onto his folded knees. “Twas a good battle,” he said, extending his hand to pat the man’s shoulder. “Farewell.” 

Rolfe simply growled as the infidel nodded to the superior heading his way. He had deeply miscalculated their battle, and it angered him beyond belief. He tried to find his wife, wherever she laid, but his position would not allow it. They had decimated the Arena, and the ruins kept her from view. 

Well, by this point, he was unable to voice what he wanted to say, anyway. Death took over the magical body, and while his soul still lingered within, his form became frail and useless. The magic from his connection with Elicia completely severed. 

The Observer was at his side; Rolfe readied himself for the soul-sucking to begin. He was not even capable of shutting his eyes. Pathetic. 

“I shall grant you words,” was what the Observer said in an emotionless tone. “What would you like me to tell your wife?” 

Rolfe felt the spiritual energy come, wholly surprised that someone such as he was given the opportunity. Well, if he could say but one thing to his marvelous woman—

“I love her—tell her to continue doing as she desires. It’s what makes her beautiful, after all.” 

—————————————

Haley drew Diarmuid into a tight embrace, which he fervently returned. Although whatever force that sealed magic hadn’t activated, her healing magic spread like butter, alleviating the plagues of their battle from her beloved’s frame. It sickened her that any harm had come to her Irishman, but he wore those battle scars proudly… she would not hang on the issue. 

The match was their win. The Psychic could not be any happier, and there was no foul play involved. If the battles were to continue this way, she actually thought she could handle it. There was no doubt to how much she’d learned from Diarmuid, and she felt their level of cohesiveness was unmatched.

Briscella floated over to hover in the air, microphone in hand and her tight, jeweled dress flowing behind her. “Congratulations to Diarmuid and Haley! Winners of the match, who will proceed onto the next match-ups! Pay attention to your watches, my fine contestants, and head on to under the balcony or to your Hotel!”

Haley froze before retracting herself from her Knight, patting at her person. “Oh no, _oh no no no_.” 

“What is the matter, Lady Haley?” Diarmuid asked as he tilted his head. 

The watch. The mother effing watch. In her frazzled state the previous round—she had tossed it when it pinged with a notification. Never did they retrieve it. “I… lost the watch.” 

If Diarmuid’s face could pale: that would perfectly describe what the look that accompanied his expression. 

Haley groaned as she smacked her forehead. “Well, shit.” 

“Shit indeed,” Diarmuid parroted, gripping at the back of his nape. “What should we do?”

Haley shrugged her scrawny shoulders as she hooked her arm underneath Diarmuid's arm. “No freggin’ clue, but they're giving us death glares.” She took a final look at Elicia being cradled and carried from the Arena, sighing, “Maybe we can tell an Observer and see if they can give us another one or something.”

Nodding in agreement, Diarmuid escorted his woman from the platform, hopping off the ledge. Finding the nearest Observer, they explained their situation; it raised the armored woman’s eyebrows so high, he wondered if they’d fly off her face.

“The semantics of the tournament aren’t under our purview. We are only here to ensure no foul-play is present,” the Observer stated. As the expression of the two contestants fell, she felt a pang of guilt. “Best I can do is relay this to Loki, and see if he can get one manufactured or give you another. Be warned, though, if he’s not in a good mood—you two might be shit outta luck in that department.” 

Haley and Diarmuid exchanged troubled looks. Involving Loki was a suggestion Diarmuid did not like one bit—but he supposed there was no other option. If they were to be disqualified over the matter… his stomach twisted into a firm knot.

“Is there truly not else we could do?” Diarmuid bent over his arm, hoping the respectful gesture would help sway her. “I worry this matter will agitate the God.” 

The woman sighed, the noise of the surroundings booming louder than canons. “You are lucky… for what you did for Trista, I’ll see if I can find it for you. Consider it a debt repaid.”

Relief rushed like surging water through Diarmuid, “You have our greatest thanks.”

The tension in Haley’s body deflated. Thank goodness—the last thing she wanted to do was get into any more trouble. It was entirely her fault they were in this predicament, and to say she felt guilty was an understatement. 

Interlocking her fingers into Diarmuid’s cool grasp, she herself mirrored his bow. “Seriously, you’re saving our asses. I really appreciate it.”

“Whatever.” The woman flicked her wrist. “Go home. I’ll visit you two later.” 

Thanking her a final time, Diarmuid steered his Lady in the direction of the Hotel. At least they are no longer subjected to cuffs and an Observer overseeing their journey home. It was stated that with the few contestants left, such measures were unnecessary. 

As the couple journeyed back, his woman utilized his bicep for comfort. Her tire was visible in the way her eyelids drooped, and her steps staggered at times. She insisted he need not carry her, but eventually, the short distance was too much and he cradled her in his arms.

Worry probably worsened her fatigue, and Diarmuid understood that. He too, was anxious over what losing the watch entailed. He merely hoped the Observer—whose name he realized he had not retrieved—could find it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Combat scenes. Let's just say, this chapter was very thought provoking on how it should come together. I am excited for the next few chapters coming our way. They are going to be quite...dramatic lets say. I hope yall are ready for the roller coaster of emotions that's about to take off! 
> 
> See you next time!


	53. Actions and Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna throw a trigger warning for the themes in this chapter, just in case. Otherwise, enjoy!

Haley nestled into the groove where Diarmuid’s bicep met his shoulder. Her long legs dangled over his arm. It was undeniable how small but  _ safe _ she felt in his strong arms. The traumatic remnants of their grueling Arena rounds felt miniscule when he held her this closely, and pecked her forehead. When had the rhythm of her cardiac system ever missed so many beats so consistently? 

Never, that’s when. The welcome sentiment drew a smile to her visage. If only this blissful haze could last over her lifetime… oh, how she’d welcome this man into the living world with open arms. 

Yet… the promise for the dead in the Underworld felt so far away; an unobtainable lie, if Merlin’s cryptic answers were any indication. Pfft, he claimed he couldn’t answer her question about whether she could really save Diarmuid at the end of this… what a load of horse shit that was. 

Yes—she was grateful he had halted the stealing of her life force, and had assisted them in the Arena—but that was all tournament-related. Honestly, Haley missed the sound of Diarmuid’s heartbeat, as now merely a shallow sound emanated from his chest. He’d felt almost  _ alive,  _ before… not that him ‘living’ or being ‘dead’ truly impacted her affection for his spirit. 

It was just her wish that he could experience a  _ good _ life. His true existence had its ups and downs, until it ended so tragically. Delving into his history of the Holy Grail War increased her desire to give her Knight something… better. That had been her goal from the get-go, after reading how his time in the War ended—in the association files, anyway. However, those visions of his past gave her knowledge that the reports didn't contain, and made her hunger for him to be happy… or at least, content.

Man—if only she’d known exactly what she and Diarmuid were getting themselves into. Haley certainly would have planned things better. Their meeting had been anything but desirable; the moments thereafter had been genuinely practically embarrassing… although somehow, they’d together managed to climb over that mountain of mistrust and eventually found romance and comfort with each other.

Even though her goal from the start had been saving the fallen Hero—never had she foreseen building a relationship with the Irish Legend, let alone that attachment breaking down her walls and empowering her to explore their feelings so intimately. No, that hadn’t been her intention at all! 

To think she had been nervous over his lovespot… It had defined him in so many tales, but it did not highlight how chivalrous he was, despite his turmoil and complicated heart. There were hidden layers to the man that she felt lucky to unravel; blessed to witness and understand the depths of his character that the myths didn't so much as touch upon. Diarmuid was more than just that stupid mole and the tragedies that had followed it.

Haley fondly sighed into his embrace. She was dreading the inevitable day they would have to say their good-byes… all she wanted to control in that situation was  _ how _ they farewelled one another—if that were even possible. 

As they now returned to the privacy of their quarters, her complicated emotions evaporated like mist, allowing her full exhaustion to settle in. 

Diarmuid took extra care when placing his Lady on their massive bed; a bed he currently happily shared with her, instead of alternating between it and the relatively comfortable couch. Up for debate was whether or not he’d join her this time. Clearly his sweetheart was tuckered out from consistent battle, but he personally did not require to sustain himself in such ways.

The Knight sat at the edge of the bed, taking Haley’s left hand in his. He tenderly traced the blaring red seal beneath the tip of his index finger. “This tournament is taxing on you, is it not?” The question was couched softly, as Diarmuid lifted her hand to his lips. 

Her shoulders rose indolently. “It does take its toll, but it's okay. In the end, it's what brought us together and honestly…” The lovely Lady clasped her hands tight around his, tugging him down to laterally lay beside her. She brushed the loose strand of hair from his face, tucking it back into his dark wavy locks. “I would go through it all as many times as I could, as long as it keeps bringing me to you.”

Diarmuid cupped her cheeks in his large hands, tipping down her forehead for a delicate kiss before he rested his own upon her brow. “I cannot fully express my gratitude for your humbling words.”

The young woman’s giggle was such a pleasant sound; the taste of her mouth against his—sweeter than candy. Oh, how he longed to deepen their osculation and fuel his burning desire to barely demonstrate how genuinely he appreciated her pure affection. It was immensely refreshing to know all her proclamations were honest and not—well, it mattered little, anymore. 

“Mmm, mmm,” Haley patted his chest. Diarmuid reluctantly pulled away, savoring her taste. “Change out of those atrocious orange garbs and take a nap with me? I’m really tired from the back-to-back fighting.”

Diarmuid stole one more kiss from his cherished woman before dramatically rolling off the bed. “As you command, my Lady.” He offered her a playful wink.

The back of his head bobbed forward, causing the Knight to chuckle softly. He nabbed the pillow and tossed it back to her.

“Hurry up, ya goof!” Lady Haley pursed her lips, and it was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. 

“Alright, alright,” he waved off his musing darling, heading to the closet to promptly change. After all, there was a gorgeous woman in his bed, and she desired his company.

——————————

Haley slammed shut her book and moved on to the next in her tall pile. All of these tales of the Underworld had procured zero additional knowledge that would benefit Diarmuid and her plan to find a way to save him. Her eyes scanned the texts, flipping through pages—to no avail. 

“AGH, this is  _ hopeless _ !” The brooding woman yet decided she must keep trying. 

“What exactly is it that you are looking for?” Diarmuid questioned, taking a book from—in her own words—the “useless” pile. His eyebrow arched at the title in his hands. 

Skimming the paragraphs, Haley contemplated how best to answer. This little task she’d assigned herself she hadn’t yet disclosed to him, and it was partly because she didn’t  _ want  _ to. She instinctively sensed her Knight would not approve… would deem her scheme dangerous (which it was), trying to outmaneuver the Panel; perhaps attempting to outwit even  _ Hades  _ himself, if it came to it. 

The brunette was sure he would say their time spent together in the tournament was enough—and whatever end that came to him, he would accept it. No, no— that was too unfair… Haley was worried that Diarmuid’s passive demeanor about that would cause conflict between them. However, honesty was what they’d built the foundations of their relationship on, and she’d be foolish to put a pin in that now.

She tugged at the collar of her dark-green turtleneck tank and nibbled her lip. “I’m trying to learn more about the Greek Underworld, the Gods relevant to it, and if—” she trailed off, hanging her head into the book, her hair spilling over her shoulder. She glanced around to ensure no-one was listening before she whispered, “—anything in these books can point me in the direction that’ll save your soul.”

Diarmuid cocked his head, tilting back his chair in a thoughtful manner. His muscles flexed through the sterling-colored scoop neck sweatshirt that fit snugly to his person. “I do not understand. Are you doubting our victory at the end of this tournament?” 

Of course he would think that. “No, no. No way... what I’m concerned over is the vague, “soul won’t be damned” business. Neither you or I believe… they’ll keep that promise at the end of this, so…”

“You are attempting to find another way. That… is noble of you, but alas, it…” Diarmuid struggled to formulate a proper sentence. He did not want to offend the Lady, nor her dedication to him. “...It is treachery to do such a thing. I have not seen it personally myself, but the rumors exist—and it does not bode well for those who try.” 

“I know… but… I  _ have _ to try, Diarmuid. I made a promise to you at the beginning of this, and I intend to keep it. You understand, don’t you? As one who defines his life on loyalty, and all…” Haley added that extra bit to score points, but by the way Diarmuid’s face drooped, she assumed she had opened old wounds. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Diarmuid raised his hand, palm up. “No, you need not apologize. It is still difficult, sometimes.” He leaned forward, resting arms flat on the Library’s table. “In any case, my Lady, are you certain about this? I wish to support and assist you in anything you do, but this is… not without risk.” It was outright  _ dangerous _ , even.

Haley expelled a long breath. “Yeah. I am. But I want to do this alone.” Man, it was like she was slapping him with continuous blows with the way his soft copper eyes dropped to the floor. “Diarmuid, I need you to trust me on this. It’s just something I have to do myself. Please understand.” 

“I… of course. Do not look so happy—I do not think this is a good idea. However, I shall put my faith in you. Just… be careful, Lady Haley.” Diarmuid took the novel from her face and lifted her chin. “But thank you. Your unfaltering loyalty does me a great honor.” 

“I’ll do my best, and… absolutely. I’d do anything for you, especially if it meant saving you from this place.” Haley took the hand that held her chin and affectionately kissed each of his knuckles. “Now, I’mma get back to reading!”

Diarmuid poked her button nose, pushing back from his chair to stand. He hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his raven black pants.

In truth, he wanted to stop her… he believed the path she tread for him would inevitably lead to heartbreak—or worse. Mayhap, she would find her quest impossible, or he could persuade her otherwise. However, as of this moment, the determination that brightened her crystal-like orbs convinced him to not try to dissuade her. How could he? It was that same burning expression across her features and commitment that had saved them both in the Punishment Game.

He was powerless against her resolve, and the sheer level of devotion from a woman (one not even entranced by his mole). Diarmuid decided he could not let the moment pass without emphasizing one essential recommendation, though.

“My Lady, while I will not impede your conquest, I at least suggest you take these back with you,” he gathered the books she had finished perusing. “I will return these to the shelves.”

If Diarmuid wanted her to reside in the safety of their Hotel room while she stuck her nose in books, then there she would be. Folding the tip of the page, the hardcover thudded to a close. The voluminous pile weighed heavily on her arms; when her Knight returned, she steadied the stack in his ready hold. 

As they exited the wide-open exit of the Library and made their way down the long hall to the elevator, Haley spotted a familiar face. Out of respect, she waved to the Observer, who traversed the corridor. 

“Keep it moving.” Thardon’s tone was even, but there was a hint of scolding within it. 

Huh— now she was two-for-two at forgetting to avoid being friendly with the Observers. Haley chuckled awkwardly, looking to Diarmuid. He lowered his head, saying nothing to the superior, as he inclined his head toward the elevator.

Apologizing under her breath, the Detainer trailed her Forsaken to the elevator.

Tapping his fingers against his thigh, Thardon watched the couple move along. Those two were such a mystery… to think the Thing was a fallen Heroic Spirit. Situations were ever-changing in the Underworld; he was certain It was the first that was rewarded such a fate.

Thardon clicked his tongue as he returned to his patrol, pausing slightly when turning the corner. Had he imagined that? He pivoted to observe the pair of lovebirds entering through the double doors of the elevator. 

“Was that…?” he questioned aloud, stroking at his chin. Well, if it was, it was none of his business… though something now irked him. Thardon decided it was time for his hour break. 

———————————

Diarmuid had called for room service while his Lady fixated on the literature at her disposal. Strange it was, to receive a call from a cafeteria worker, who had sputtered that their lunch could not be transported to them, and they instead would require Diarmuid to step out to retrieve it. With so few participants left, he did not think the work was as demanding; but with his Lady’s need for nourishment—well, he of course would comply. 

The last thing he had expected upon reaching the large lunchroom doors was to be greeted by a recent opponent. “How are you…?” 

The woman’s cat-like glare verily clawed at his head. “You took him from me!” she spat. “For that—you’re going to  _ pay _ .” 

———————————

“D-Dolos…?”

Haley was unsure if she was really seeing one of the Panel members standing at the entrance to her and Diarmuid’s room. When the imperious knock had come, she’d thought it was Diarmuid, his hands full with dinner. 

Her mouth opened, closed, opened again—yet her words never made it through. Alarm bells rang like sirens from a fire station, such was her shock (and alarm) over Dolos’s presence.

He didn’t belong here—and his aura was vexatious. Every nerve in her damn body warned her to slam the door in his pretty face. So why didn’t she? Too dumbstruck? This was a very  _ God  _ paying visit, and his dubious smile was sending her in too many directions to get the hell away.

“What—you are not going to welcome me inside? Come now; I have taken all this time to come this way… what a pity.” 

Run. Close the door. Tell him it’s too weird. “Uhm… I… wasn’t expecting you…” 

“Mm? I am a God, no? Do I need an invitation to pay a visit to my lovely participants in the tournament? Come now…” The smooth talking—the way the man leaned on the wall and his lingering simper had every one of Haley’s hackles standing on an edge sharper than Moralltach’s blade. 

If only Diarmuid were with her… why had he needed to be… 

The dots connected; Haley’s immediate reaction was to slam shut the steel door between them. There had been enough shady people in her life, and this—

“Ah, ah, Hang on…” Dolos' finger wagged, suggesting she was a young girl to be scolded. “Can’t have you closing that door. I do have to give you the watch you left behind, and you  _ will  _ speak with us.” He slyly winked as he dangled her equipment in front of her, dropping it into her shaking palms. 

She was on the verge of thanking him for returning the important item to her, as she slid it into the back pocket of her jeans. At least it made sense for his surprise visit—but wait… what did he say?

“...Us…?” Haley’s voice was like a mouse’s: a tiny squeak, reflective of her suddenly shrunken presence. Dolos lightly pushed her backwards into what now felt like a claustrophobic chamber. 

His thin brows waggled suggestively behind her as he adjusted the collar of his violet tunic. Haley turned, eyes shocked and goggling, as the breeze flowed through the curtains on the balcony. She hadn’t had time to think, to contemplate the horror of just how this suited person was integrated into the situation. The omniscient click of the exit sealing shut underlined the unalienable fact that this encounter was happening—whether she approved of it or not. 

_ Diarmuid… Diarmuid… please… come back! I'm scared… Dolos… Dolos is here… and… and so is— _

“It’s been… eleven years…” the man coolly commented from his position upon the sofa, adjusting his tie to correctly lodge into his blazer.

Haley swallowed so hard that she half-expected the rock in her throat to shatter her insides. Her limbs refused to move, a cornucopia of haunting imagery assaulting her mindset. There was a Bounded Field placed. Her teeth drew blood from her lip at what that meant—Diarmuid could not hear her pleas for help, as she had been cut off by anything outside. 

How?

**_Why?_ **

What… was the purpose to all of this…? 

“Go away… b-both of y—” Within seconds, her vision was obscured; the cloth tightening around the back of her trembling head. 

Dolos firmly placed his hands on each of her shoulders, pushing the frail girl to her knees. He bent down just enough to allow his words to tickle her ear. “Now now, none of that. Your punishment is coming full-fledge, my dear. Take it in your stride.” 

Punishment? For what? Haley had displayed her aversion to the Panel and the tournament—but she had not done anything to merit  _ this _ . Wouldn’t killing her in the tournament suffice? This was nothing of the sort! It was pure intimidation! 

It was unfathomable. Why go to such lengths?! If they wished to punish her for her misdeeds in the tournament, certainly there were other ways to—

“Loki…” The God of Mischief’s name tasted bitter on Haley’s lips, as the revelation battered her distressed brain. 

That particular day, so long ago—she had forgotten it completely. It had unsettled her and Diarmuid, when they had broken the Arena rules and were caught by the God himself for what he’d decreed to be “Fighting outside the Arena.” Instead of taking Diarmuid at that second, he had offered a penalty… but he’d never said what, nor when…

Thus now—as her father’s footsteps grew painfully closer—she cursed Loki for choosing  _ this _ as her punishment. 

“My, haven’t you grown into such a gorgeous woman,” Lupo began, tilting her chin at odd angles, as if he were examining her features. Haley recoiled from his touch, trying to sink into the tight chest behind her. 

“Ah-ah! If you try anything, woman: rest assured I will send a Shadow to retrieve your Forsaken’s spirit,” Dolos warned, shoving the nuisance into her father’s welcoming arms. 

A shudder hunched Haley into her shoulders, as she cringed from the embrace. Her face grew hot, wetness drenching her cheeks. Tremors wrecked her thin figure as she desperately fought the urge to shove away the man… the impulse to turn tail and run nearly overwhelmed her, as the evil threat that he represented and projected hovered over her like a murky cloud. 

They had Diarmuid. Was he confined somewhere in the hotel, or dragged elsewhere? Either way, his safety was equally as important as hers—if any of her desperate attempts directly caused a negative effect on her beloved’s soul, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself. She was just recently trying to figure out a way to save him!

A crestfallen sob burst from her tremulous lips as Adranga ran his stubby fingers through her hair. Bile surged in her esophagus. Her breathing quickened; Haley began gagging moments before his hand tightly covered her nose and mouth. 

She jerked in the restrictive hold, his fingernails digging into her skin as she battled the contracting sensations in her gut, wildly gulping the burning mush in her throat. 

“Do I smell? Or are you that repulsed to see me?” Lupo’s voice was flat. It demonstrated the usual calm and collected demeanor that Haley so despised. 

“It has been excruciating, watching you subjugate yourself to the torture of this tournament, for a rejected _ Servant _ —yet you can’t dedicate that same devotion to proper Magecraft. I am thoroughly disappointed.” His manner of speech was vitriolic… pure poison. She couldn’t stand it. “Especially with how much you’ve… grown.”

Haley steeled herself as his other hand firmly gripped her breast. His hand stifled her instinctual cry to stop. She yanked away from him, only to be tugged tightly under the older man’s stubbly chin. “Now, now, don’t be like that. It was only a quick fondle. I am sure that Servant has taken plenty of mana from you in more  _ drastic ways _ . Tell me, did you enjoy a  _ dead _ man defiling you?”

Her whimper vibrated into the man’s sweaty palm. The simple thought of Diarmuid and their intimacy was enough to morph her muffled whines into full-on wails. Their beautiful night together would never shame her… it was a moment she held close to her heart. Always.

Haley pleaded to the Gods that Diarmuid was okay—that they hadn’t tricked her into submission by lying to her that he yet existed in this world. She couldn’t confirm it. With their telepathic path broken apart like her mental state, there was no telling what was happening to him. 

Disgusted, Lupo slammed her vile little head into the carpet with as much force he could muster. His daughter’s strangled scream was music to his ears. He released her; the crimson nicks in her cheek left him unsatisfied. He would add deeper, more distinguishable marks soon. “Answer me.” 

The world was spinning around her dazed head. Haley turned onto her side, barely able to make out his words. What was his question? What did he want to hear? If she could tell him what he wanted… would he go away? Leave her be? 

Her thoughts were a jumbled mess. An answer, he wanted an answer. “Diarmuid… he ...” 

_ Diarmuid.  _ All she wanted was to be cradled in his arms and feel safe again. She will never take that feeling for granted— _ never _ . Feeling the familiar coolness of his physique would be akin to winning the lottery right now.  _ Please… please be okay…  _

“Answer me.” He repeated the order in the same deceptively placid timbre. 

Her stomach screamed in agony as a sharp kick successfully emptied it. Haley choked on the acidity, gasping for air as she clutched her abdomen. 

“Yuck— do refrain from having that happen again,” Dolos chimed in, utterly disgusted. 

Haley’s fists clenched tightly, palpably turning white. Her father’s reply was lost to the indignation swelling in her heart. It spread like wildfire, sparking a flare of intense resolve. He wanted an answer?! Then he’d get the truth. 

The Psychic would be damned if she ever insulted her relationship with the man she declared her hero—never would she degrade the moments they'd shared, nor belittle how close they had become, and the profound  _ trust _ they instilled in the other (when both had so little to begin with). Whether Diarmuid was dead or alive (heh) she’d defend his honor—no matter how terrified she was.

“He did not  _ defile  _ me. And… I won’t let you disgrace the tender hands that have embraced me… Everything that he is— _ is ten times better than every damned breath you take _ !” 

A deathly silence followed her avowal. Finally, a whistle sounded from the lowlife behind her. Her capability to read intentions flourished, revealing her father’s intent to mentally handicap her with all his might. His overwhelming sense of fury—that she assumed was hidden deep behind the mask of his usual blank countenance—instinctively made her crawl backwards. 

Haley flinched, waiting for the strike, or the stab… some sort of torture—but it never came. The insufficient amount of air in her lungs made it impossible to breathe. Her heart beat far too swiftly, filled as it was with conflicting vehemence—crushing her already shattered soul into even smaller pieces. 

“Go away…” Haley’s voice crackled, breaking the silence. The Psychic's whimpers were involuntary and anguished, old fears warring with new determination. “Go… away… and leave me alone. I’m not… not your—” 

Her screech sliced through the stagnant air like a knife cutting through paper. Her hair tangled into a tightly balled grip as her father ripped it (and bits of her scalp) from her pounding head. Warm liquid streamed down her temple, dripping off her narrow chin. 

“I will be keeping this,” Adranga methodically stated, eyeing the God who gestured with his hand to hurry up. “At the end of this tournament—should you live—it has been promised that you will come home. Oh daughter, you  _ will  _ be mine.”

——————————

Diarmuid’s concern searched the room for information, a magical hum stiffening his posture. He recognized that emanation. A Bounded Field? It was something Kayneth had a mastery of, but certainly he could not be responsible for this incursion. There were other Magi capable of doing such a thing… but if one had put up this barrier once he had entered here and then left—

“Lady Haley!” The Knight would not amuse this Elicia woman. Hell, she should not even be here. Her loss should have sent her back to the world of the living. 

Pivoting, Diarmuid nearly smacked into the teleporting woman’s face; he sprang backwards just in time for her to strike the air instead. 

“I have no intention of fighting you.” The Knight’s eyes caught on the workers bundled together behind the counter. “Was this your doing?” He cocked his head in the direction of the fearful employees. 

Elicia hissed, baring her teeth. She was not here to converse in idle chit-chat about what Dolos had helped her to set up. Magic ensnared her physique, breaking it down to have her appear directly behind her husband’s killer. 

Diarmuid kicked up one of the long white tables to let the woman collide with the wood, her blade jammed inside it. This was bad. The woman was obviously not interested in abiding by the “No Fighting” rule. His Lady could also be in grave peril, given this ploy.

Repeatedly, he dodged her strikes—the aftermath of her attacks overturning tables. Silverware clattered, plates broke, and yet still he shamefully ran away. His feet slammed and pushed off the plaster. A picture frame hung above him rattled and crushed underneath the woman’s forceful movements. 

“Ahhh, annoying, annoying,  _ annoying!! _ If you won’t fight, then, then—!” Elicia’s glare centered on the staff who were tied together. 

Diarmuid followed her line of vision and was immediately met with a distressful understanding. 

“You would not…?” Those souls may be in forms just as he—but they could still feel pain. If they were from Hell’s Lobby, they could be untimely ferried to Tartarus if she struck their Spirit Core. One of them he was sure was  _ alive.  _ None deserved to be a part of whatever was her vengeful plan. 

“Oh I will, I will! It is what I do, after all!” The Magus disintegrated and reformed before he could close the distance between himself and the innocent. Elicia drove the dagger deep into the right side of the cowering woman’s back before retracting it. 

The worker’s shrill scream filled the room. Diarmuid thwacked the weapon from the enemy's raised hand, daring to implant the sole of his foot as hard as he could into Elicia’s chest. The punt had the human sailing into the tables with a loud crash. 

Diarmuid focused on the frantic woman as she overturned the table behind her, growling savagely. “I do not have healing abilities,” he remorsefully explained to the Lady behind him. “I am sorry.” 

“Aggghh, why, why… !” Elicia knew she was more powerful than this—she could do so much more than this! But that blasted Dolos and their stupid arrangement! “Curse, curse that damn deal of his!!” 

Diarmuid adjusted his stance, awaiting whatever else this heretic woman would dish out. He did not wish to fight—he assuredly did  _ not  _ want to break the tournament ruling—but as a Knight, he could not allow this woman to prey on the lives of others. The only turmoil in his heart was... “I am sorry… Lady Haley…” 

Magical energy spiraled around the crazy woman. It whipped up the shredded lunchroom, clouding his sight; but what did catch in his orbs made his jaw hang open. Appearing in the erratic gusts was Thardon—and the wild woman was truly unprepared for his surprise attack. 

The Observer cleanly cleaved her head from her shoulders with his spear. A fountain of blood sprayed the floor as her head rolled beside the collapsing corpse. Diarmuid wanted to feel relieved—but no, the only emotion filling his heart was dread. He knew not where the Observer came from, but surely he would continue with his role to uphold the tournament. He had done so quite strictly before, when they had first met, and that same spear had disabled him.

The Knight’s mouth opened to speak, but Thardon’s emerald eyes slammed it shut. The employees behind him babbled the Observer’s name, grateful for his presence. 

Thardon strutted over. Diarmuid’s shoulders fell, along with his eyelids and inclined head. “I…”

The Observer raised his palm, silencing the Knight. To strip his soul… or not strip his soul…? “You protected them. Bold, considering your fate for breaking Arena regulations.”

“Sir Thardon, couldn’t you… overlook this? He… was only coming to retrieve food for his Detainer…” the injured woman sheepishly offered as she glanced between the two warriors. 

Thardon surveyed the Forsaken up and down before he bent to the woman, healing the hole in her back. “Go. This will be the only time.” Thardon contemplated his next words. Well, a debt had to be repaid. Gods, he knew something was off, after seeing Dolos, and the following orders for the entire building to empty itself.  _ Tch, screw this. _

“Quickly, Knight. Dolos was following you earlier. I believe your lady is in danger.” 

——————————

Dolos?! The God of the Panel was… trailing them? For what purpose?! Diarmuid gave his superior a rushed bow. “You have my thanks!” 

Darting from the cafeteria, Diarmuid sped as fast as he possibly could. Why was the tower so empty? No Observers lingered about; the shops lining the hallway to the staircase were closed down. He skipped steps, travelled heights, to reach what he’d once assumed was his and the Lady’s secure shelter. Whatever the case may be—if Lady Haley were harmed, there would be hell to pay.

The door flung open and Diarmuid’s usual calm demeanor was replaced with irate fury. His nostrils flared as the door slammed so hard it came off its hinges. He could not believe the figures before his eyes—but when he saw the condition of Haley—and that man: was that not her father?!

“Release her at once or I swear on my Honor as a Knight that I will have **_ALL_** of your heads, no matter the consequences!” Moralltach and Gae Dearg were within arms reach, balancing on the wall by the entryway. He rapidly collected them into his ready hands. 

Dolos raised his eyebrows, along with his lips. “A threat to a God—how brazen of you. I should strike you down right here for such disrespect.”

On all fours like the caged animal she felt herself to be, Haley cried out through her choking sobs. “Diarmuid! No… you can’t…! This is...my penance from Loki from that day… the day we escaped the familiars!” 

Taking a staggering step back, the Knight’s brows furrowed. “What…?” This… was how Loki intended her to pay retribution for that day? Those very pursuers were the creations of the man on his haunches before his Lady!

“Yes, and now that _you’re_ here…” Dolos remarked, untwining the arms he had folded behind his light head, stuffing them into his breeches. Later, he would ponder how the Spirit managed his way here without being teleported by the woman. It was time to continue Loki’s work. “… Your discipline can begin, as well.” 

Haley shot up instantly, her father’s rigid grip encasing her slender wrist and hoicking her backwards. She writhed in his hold. He whispered that they were not finished, but the only thing on her mind was her Knight. They could do whatever the hell they wanted to her, but he,  _ he _ at least needed to be okay! “Leave Diarmuid alone! He didn’t do anything! That time, it was me!” 

The hysterical laugh Dolos bellowed buried whatever hope the Psychic had that the Irishman would be unharmed. The God peered over his shoulder, a foul grin spread across his features. 

“Loki said you will be punished. Never did he distinguish that it would not be both of you.” The God of Deceit licked his lips most unpleasantly. “You—keep her at bay, but take off the blindfolds. She needs to see this.” 

Weapons lowered, the Knight’s hooded gaze burned through the floor. What was he to do? This was no random attack—it was a coordinated plot to bestow upon them the outcome to which they had agreed. It seemed that the past was continuously coming back to haunt them, the last few days… what a mess this situation was. 

And his Lady… the right side of her face was painted crimson. This time, it was no replica of her father—but the actual villain himself. As the man removed the blindfold, Diarmuid saw that Haley’s beautiful crystal orbs were bloodshot and made hazy from her constant tears. She thrashed violently in the man’s hold; when their eyes met, he shook his head. She must have understood that he meant for her to stop resisting, as she defeatedly slumped to the floor.

Diarmuid accepted he would receive his penalty as promised. 

“Ah, so you understand your situation now, it seems.” The Knight slayed the patronizing God with his gaze. Just because he had acknowledged his fate didn’t mean he would completely submit. He despised this way of handling things—so dark and shadowy.  _ Honorless…  _ but it was expected of one with the title ‘God of Deception’. 

The taller man hovered over the Irishman, kicking away the Celtic weaponry. So, it was true. The curse was gone, only a sliver of the evils that formed from the Grail remaining. It was deeply rooted in the former Heroic Spirit. Clicking his tongue and remembering the words of the spell, Dolos’s hand penetrated Diarmuid’s sternum with a revolting crack as he shattered the cage around his vascular system, just missing the necklace his dearest had given him.

The Knight buckled over the God’s arm, grasping at his warm skin. Haley’s frantic scream of his name blared in his ears. Diarmuid’s body felt like it was being electrocuted from the inside out; his nerves felt like they were on fire, and he was unable to withhold the pitiful wince that plagued his features. The torn flesh and throb of his muscles was overshadowed by the inside of his chest as he could literally follow the path Dolos’s hand had travelled to toy with his extremities.

Makeshift figure or not, his anatomy still existed—and Dolos seemed to be enjoying bruising his lungs with his fingertips, snapping his ribs and stabbing his internal muscles with the bone shards. The God’s grimy fondling found its way to his frozen heart, squeezing so hard that Diarmuid toppled forward again, unable to resist the sharp pain and blankness that not only overtook his mind but his  _ soul.  _

If this man successfully damaged his heart—the Knight knew he would be gone. Even though that detail perturbed him, the stoic warrior never let resilience leave his demeanor. The agony that entertained his loathsome tormentor would not dissuade his pride. He would not be broken—no matter what Dolos did. 

“I like that look in your eyes,” Dolos idly stated. He thumbed the veins of the precious organ in his hold. “Too bad for you—it shall turn crimson once more… And this time, you might just lose sense of yourself.”

“What are you…?” Diarmuid did not comprehend what the God was insinuating. He spared a concerned glance at his Lady—her countenance was horror-stricken. 

“YOU CAN’T DO THAT!” Haley lunged for the piece of shit that dared to proclaim himself a so-called God. She violently jerked, twisted, and even clawed at Adranga, struggling to be released from his grip. “He worked so hard to mend those wounds! This isn’t punishment—IT’S PURE CRUELTY!”

“What… does she mean?” It was unutterably painful to hear the confusion in her Knight’s tone. The answer to his question was so revolting that it put even the events they succumbed themselves to in the Arena, to shame. 

Dolos chuckled. “I will be amplifying the evils still within you by resurrecting the curse. And woman—I sense your struggle. Should you attack, I  _ will  _ destroy his heart, and I’m sure you understand what that entails.”

Eyes widening, Diarmuid jerked in the man’s grip, despite how his injuries protested.  _ No, it cannot be… _ He could not do that, could he? 

Dark tendrils started to surround the Greek Myth in an obsidian mist that made her blood run to ice. It was wicked enough to make the Underworld squirm. Haley knew what that meant. Yet she still twisted, shoving her hands into her father’s blank expression as she fought desperately to go to Diarmuid; to stop this madness. She  _ could  _ stop him, there had to be a way!

“Don’t do this, Dolos! Please!” Haley wailed, collapsing on all fours again as her father rested his palms on her shoulders. He whispered some crap in her ear, telling her to let it be, but she could not bring herself to listen to him. “Bringing back curses, strengthening the evils of the world… that could warp Diarmuid completely!! He could be corrupted, never returning to the self we know here!”

Dolos didn’t even bother to look at the pleading bitch; instead, he leveled his stare to the Forsaken at his mercy. “That is  _ exactly  _ what we’re hoping for.” 

“YOU BASTARD!” Haley’s voice was sharper than the most well-crafted sword and raised an additional octave. 

Dolos began to chant the spell, its wording in an ancient language. 

“ **STOP THIS!!** ” the woman despairingly cried. There must be something,  _ anything  _ she could do that wouldn’t give Dolos the opportunity to squeeze the very soul out of Diarmuid’s heart. “Please, please don’t do this!”

The two men dropped to their knees, as the darkness began swirling around them. Haley had no time. She could almost feel that evil on her skin. It permeated around the room, deepening the walls to the darkest black she’d ever seen. The malice was powerful enough to potentially strangle all the worlds. It made her heart retreat to its outer limits. She slammed her open palms on the floor, cracking open her clenched eyes.

It was then that her attention targeted the blaring scarlet command seal on her left hand. Haley had forgotten the damn thing even existed, as she never had a use for it. She clutched her fingers into her palms, digging her nails so deep that scarlet warmth coated her nails. 

“By order of command seal, Diarmuid...” Haley whispered, putting all the hope she had left in the magic that she begged would be strong enough to save them. The looping triangular line emitted a crimson glow at the beginning of her command. It caught her father’s and Dolos’s heed much too late.

“ **IMMEDIATELY** teleport to someone we can trust right now to help us!!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This. Chapter. Was such a difficult one to write, but in very good ways. There was a balance of so many things happening in it, and while I almost broke it up into two chapters: I feel this was one of those, 'edge of your seat, nail biting with tension' chapters that would lose that intensity if it was thrown into two. And hell, it's still a crazy cliffhanger, I suppose. Just so much going on here, I squirm with how well it came together. There's foreshadowing, angst, drama, action, romance, bittersweet moments, some answers, and definitely: consequences for actions while more actions takes place. 
> 
> Let's also not forget freggin our Daley. They're really paying a high price. Just what will happen given the damage that's being done to them?! 
> 
> Curious your thoughts! And ooof, I really hope despite how gut wrenching this chapter was, you enjoyed every bit of it!


	54. Deliverance

Diarmuid clawed frantically at the hand inside his chest—to no avail. His consciousness felt weak. A dark shadow was weeding inside him, and he desperately yanked at the roots to remove it. Despair began to build deep within his heart. It was suffocating, and disastrous. It tried to warp his very thoughts and _identity_. 

His manner of thought and being was consumed by the vile lunacy. All too familiar it was, to be struck by such agony once again. All the pain he’d withheld to accomplish his Master’s goals—all to no end. It felt as if he’d been blanketed by filthied snow, cold and foul.

Ah—it was this tenebrous, lonely place again. His psyche made victim to the worst bits of his two lives, and the return to his dangerous need to tear those responsible limb from limb; to lay down his honor and pride; above all, to never forgive anyone for crushing his sole wish. He’d fought the darkness for so long… maybe it was time he put to rest his fight.

**No.**

_No, curse these thoughts…! I… cannot…_ The struggling Knight weakly cracked open an eye, Dolos’ grinning countenance so close his breath warmed Diarmuid's straining features… his eyes were black as obsidian, with more darkness pooling into them. His beloved’s cries for his torturer to cease fell upon deaf ears, as the room was coated with malevolence that dragged even his courage into its darkness. 

The air became thickly opaque, filling with the most appalling energy he’d ever experienced. He grappled against the image of his broken self screaming curses at everyone until he’d disappeared. Evil whispers tempted him to become that beast once again. 

_“He could be corrupted, never returning to the self we know here!”_

That sentence—smothered in fear and desperation—made more sense with each passing second. His knowledge of oneself was at war. It tore away at his character and warped it to someone unfamiliar—someone completely unrecognizable to him, but at the same time, clearly the tragic hero Ireland came to know. This version of himself reached out. Beckoned him to grasp—to take hold of this new, better _, stronger_ , version—

Diarmuid dug his fingernails deep into the bastard’s skin, drawing blood that trickled down his arm. Anything to keep his true self grounded in this reality, not swept away into the sea of darkness. “It _cannot_ … _end_ like this,” he hacked out, as the hand harboring his heart clenched tighter. “I will not comply….” The simple agitation played with his consciousness… it allowed more of his spell to sink in as they dropped to frigid flooring. His resilience was waning despite himself...

It was then his body tingled with a purer magic, and the echo of his Lady beginning a command resonated in his subconscious. An order that he cannot resist—thanks to the power of her magic. He attempted to ready himself for whatever action would follow. If only he could silence the voices seething at her in his head… voices that demanded he mistrust any use of those blasted seals. 

Through his blurry sight, he noticed Dolos whipped his head around—too late. 

“Teleport immediately to someone we can trust **_right now_ ** to help us!” 

The Irishman hadn’t time to grasp what his insanely witty, brilliant woman had just done. He knew—despite those strident, luring voices—his trust in her would prevail… just as her determined voice demanded, he blinked out of existence. 

All the wicked magic that had surged like an electrical storm sizzled out. The dreadful whispers guiding him into insanity were carried away, as if by a breeze. Only sparks of madness and despair remained as he manifested into existence in an unfamiliar place. Exasperated, Diarmuid clutched at the gaping cavity in his chest as a spear was leveled at his throat. He barely had the strength to lift his chin, let alone cast a glance to whom he’d teleported to. 

The sudden burst of magical energy startled all in the room. Each figure veered in the direction of the cause, but it was Thardon who readied his weapon at the Forsaken Knight who appeared before them. The damn Thing was lucky. Centimeters—he was mere centimeters away from lopping off the intruder’s head. This blasted soul had more lives than a cat, and none of them were alive to begin with.

“My, my what do we have here~?” Merlin dramatically sang, splaying his hand over his chest, the long sleeves of his white cloak swaying from the motion. Behind him, Cu Chulainn and Achilles stood, bearing matching looks of disbelief. 

Hands shaking—but raised in surrender to the fuzzy spear wielder—the battered Spirit spoke through jagged breaths. “Do… do what you must to me… but please—Lady Haley—she is in grave danger at the hands of Dolos. I beg of you... please help her!” 

The Irishman and the Greek traded looks of confusion before pinning the British Wizard with their questioning stares. Why—and how the hell—was this former Heroic Spirit here, and with a freggin’ _hole_ in his damn body, no less? Any living being would naturally be dead in his condition, and to be fair, he seemed damn well near it himself, despite already finding his untimely grave.

Merlin’s eyes narrowed, their cheerful gleam overtaken by concern. “Lower your spear, Thardon. Based on the information you provided, and his condition, I do not believe Diarmuid to be a threat.” When the Observer’s weapon lowered, the Mage of Flowers raised his palm and a vision appeared in the air. 

It was a projection of the current events over the present, that the Clairvoyant had the gift to see. He displayed it for all to witness; immediately, a sense of urgency riled them all. “It seems it is time to take care of a slight oversight on our parts,” the half-incubus stated simply, turning to the two Heroic Spirits behind him. “Achilles, Cu Chulainn, you two shall handle Dolos. Thardon, the father—but we’ll deal with him later.” 

“And you?” Cu asked, raising his royal-blue eyebrows. 

“I’ll take care of these two,” Merlin’s lilac eyes softened as they fell back upon the poor soul’s desperate expression and the screen blipped out of the world. They truly were unfortunate. “I will protect them, of course!~” 

———————————

“What in the _hell_ did you do!?” Dolos’s voice raised higher than the tallest building. It was the first time Haley had ever witnessed the usual smile that pursed his lips turn into a feral snarl. She refused to respond. Instead, she found solace in the evaporation of the black mist. She watched the seal on her left hand fade away, and prayed whoever was on the opposite end of the magic would be enough.

“Hmm… interesting use of that magic. You get one undeniable order and you waste it on something as useless as that,” Lupo snickered as he rose from his position on his knees. 

Focus remaining on the soiled carpet, Haley pressed her eyes shut. Dolos closed the distance between them in seconds and hoisted her upward by her long, tangled locks. The pathetic whimper that her vocal chords produced made her feel as damaged as she looked. Defense mechanisms almost implemented to propel her victimizer away, but she restrained them. The last thing she wanted to do was piss him off more. Was she even strong enough to face off against an actual _God_?

“Be gone,” Dolos waved the lowly being off with his free hand. “And you…” His eyes were deadly daggers, skewering the wretch in his grip, “... will pay for that.” Making good on his vow—he snapped her dangling left arm with a satisfying pop. Her high-pitched squeal was a truly delicious sound. “I may only be blessed with _superhuman_ abilities—but it’s enough.”

And oh, he would not relent. He snapped each of her digits, relishing in the sound of her desperate screams. Tough fingers punctured the skin that corkscrewed at the bridge of her shoulder; he stripped her fragile skin to the bone in an insufferably slow manner. She would taste the flavor of her disobedience. Dolos found great joy when the defiant pig choked on liquid iron (and her own flesh) as he stuffed it into her rebellious little mouth. 

Haley thrashed about in his rigid hold. Dolos’s demonstration of ability was enough to activate her motivation (or stupidity) to defend herself. She’d had _enough._

However, just as she’d made the decision, two digits pierced her eyes, causing her to scream loudly enough to shatter the earth. She wrestled between healing herself and mustering enough psychic energy to blast them apart when—

“What the feck, Dolos!” 

Sorcery dispelled in the hotel room. The tormented woman identified the familiar voice as Ireland’s Child of Light. As her tears mixed with bright vermillion, Haley sagged like a sack of sand. It crossed her battered mind that only one member of the Panel would teleport Cu Chulainn here, and the thought fit the bill of trust from her command seal. 

Thardon scanned the room, not seeing the father. He turned to Achilles, “I will go find the father,” he said, relinquishing himself to his duties and leaving through the apartment’s door.

Dolos watched the Observer exit the room; his eyes darted between the little rescue team. He had suspected—but had not _actually_ believed—they’d be the ones the spell would transfer them to. Taking them on would doubtless bring a great deal of pain. “I am doing as ordered—do _not_ interfere,” Dolos snapped, dangling the dead weight in his hands before him.

Diarmuid willed his abused body and hazy awareness to stand and focus. “RELEASE HER!” Through determined eyes, he searched the room for his weapons. Latching on to their location, he took a step in their direction when Merlin’s hand found his shoulder. 

He hardened his glare at the Wizard—nothing would stop him from defending his Lady. He’d hoped merely witnessing his determination would advise Merlin of that unalienable fact. However, the white-haired man poked his temple with a wink and a cheeky grin. “Curse… you…” Diarmuid murmured, before collapsing into a deep dream. 

Merlin sighed lustily, stepping away from the former Heroic Spirit to correct the mistake Dolos had made. “Are you, Dolos? Did Loki command whatever their punishment to be would necessitate you killing that girl?” 

“She needs to be punished for her transgressions—against a _GOD!_ —by not allowing me to end that heap of trash at your feet.” He tilted back the scrawny Thing’s head to reveal the flesh of her throat, hovering his fingertips in a threatening manner. “Hand over the Forsaken, and I won’t split open her neck.”

Achilles folded his arms and shook his head as he donned his armor. “Not happening, bud.” 

“Think ya did enough here,” Cu shrugged impassively, wearing his famous smirk. His wine-colored eyes glimmered with anticipation for a fight. “Give us the lil Lady nicely, and you'll be granted a painless death.” 

Dolos’ eyebrows raised. “You dare—!”

As if Cu was going to wait placidly for the dumbass to just politely discard the girl. He was upon the scum before he could counter or so much as _twitch._ The Irish legend was not whittled down by Merlin's magic to play fairly with the Forsaken of the Tournament—oh, no—he was a proper Heroic Spirit, himself. A Demi-God with strength and speed that rivalled even the great Hercules.

A feint, as the God’s attention for the little lady wavered. It was enough.

Achilles was upon him faster—he snatched the limp, whimpering woman from his arms so quickly, a blink couldn’t quite catch up. The Wizard’s arms were already outstretched, his face beaming with readiness. The catastrophe behind them raged on, rupturing stone and plaster. The balcony beyond was obliterated as though a bull bulldozer had been released in the room; with a heavy sigh, Achilles decided to level the playing field. 

The Greek Hero gave chase, summoning his obsidian tri-ended spear and tossing it down to the craters coming into view. “Damn it, Cu, you’re not supposed to draw this much attention,” he shouted, as the figures of two warriors collided with a ripple of massive potency. “Diatrekhon Aster Lonkhe!” 

The atmosphere swelled and pulsed like a heartbeat, the spear dipping into the earth before fading away, like ripples in water. Warm, rich colors were overridden by lime green tones and the clouds that carried in the air froze, changing from tangerine to turquoise. 

Dolos sharply curved backward, as if he’d intended to snap his own back in half. That ridiculous blood-red spear and beast-like warrior skill were overbearing. If he hadn't angled his hostage as a shield, he would’ve been dead the moment Ireland’s Child of Light blitzed him—the cocky _bastard_. 

Deflecting his strikes was like battling flashes of lightning—he flickered in and out so rapidly that it was all Dolos could do to parry and dodge the weapon’s foggy swipes. “Damn it all…!” Each stab, every swing of that demonic spear was lethal—and he held it by a single hand, too!

On the defensive, Dolos had assumed he’d watched enough of the thundering storm that was Cu Chulainn’s battle style to counter it but—what marked the fractured ground maroon was _not_ the wretched beast’s blood, but his damned own! Where in the hell was Loki? This cursed damned mission was _not_ supposed to erupt in a fight between himself and the Heroic Spirits!

Eyes pinning the blond that landed a-ways behind them, the fretting God was almost grateful for the Noble Phantasm he’d unleashed. Thanks to it, time had halted, divinity stripped from the three of them. Only their innate strength mattered in this altered realm, but that left Dolos cursing profusely. 

He was merely human. His divinity was all he had, and now, because of this… this… _barrier,_ not even Loki could help him, as it denied all outside interference. He’d been played for a fool. 

Cu erupted into mocking laughter, his spear dematerializing instantly. “Ya thought this would be a disadvantage for me? Heh,” he adjusted his stance, bending at the knees and readying his fists. A honed warrior, trained not in the skill of the spear, but in several different forms of combat. “This is where I kill ya.” 

Even without his Godly half, Ireland’s beloved Hero could still master the acceleration that only the truly skilled could even dream of replicating. The distance between them was conquered in one swift motion as the bastard paled. He recognized that look of affronted defeat—it was indeed _pitiful_ —before colliding directly with his raised arms.

Was it instinct that drove his now splintered limbs up in deflection? Cu chuckled dryly at the sound of crunching bones and shattered insides as Dolos was sent smashing into the stone statue at the center of the lawn. Dirt dragged up from where he slid; the Warrior closed in, ready for the kill.

“Cu Chulainn,—we, _we_ are on the same damned side!” Dolos spewed, in a pathetic, pleading tone that had the stalking warrior shaking his head. His rag tail slipped over his shoulder blade.

“Dunno where you got that from, but from where I stand, you’re an enemy, after the crap you pulled.” 

“I was… following orders…” Dolos rasped, clenching his heaving chest as he turned over, attempting to stand. “That wretched Thing was supposed to be cursed!” 

Cu cocked his head, resting his palm on his hip. “Don’t care, man.” His ruby eyes lifted to Achilles, who approached with a mastered stealth. 

Eyes narrowing in accusation, the feeble God spat, “You should. Caring for the filth in this place does nothing—it changes nothing! Loki will have _all_ of your heads for this, and when he does—”

“You insult us,” Achilles grinned down at the male who gawked up at him. “Anyway, this got boring fast. You crossed the line, bud, and it’s the duty of a Hero to stop you.” He leaned over, ever-so-close to the glare that came his way. “Let’s trade, it’s only fair. Blow for blow. See how _you_ like it.” 

Dolos’ eyes widened a fraction. “What—!” Pain pierced his chest, bright lifeblood spilling over the fist that leveled his insides clear through. He choked on the bitter iron surging up his throat, spitting it directly on the eagly at the center of Achilles’ breastplate. “.... Heh… hero… duty… _pathetic._ You’ll… see.” 

“Tch…” Cu craned his head upward as Achilles’ spell wore off, retracting into the blood-red sky. How fitting. A part of him wanted to keep the little shit alive to figure out how he’d obtained such dark magic, but he understood Merlin’s caution—given it would raise Loki’s suspicions. 

Yep, they were here merely to help. Nothing more. He shook his head as the gruesome (yet oddly satisfying) sound of a withdrawn fist pouring the enemy’s blood to the floor caught his attention. He and Achilles stared at one another—just before he gave him a nod. They'd get an Observer to deal with the remains; they both returned to the shattered hotel room

—————————

Healing magic was such a tedious thing. With palms raised, a lavender hue circled the grief-stricken girl, sewing the tissue of her forelimb back together. Crooked bone reconstructed properly, her crippled fingers realigned. She’d not let him remove the purpling welt on her midriff; had said she wanted to keep the proof of her struggle—proof that’d she come out _alive_. Merlin was fine with that.

He settled on the easy bits of her ragged frame first. Now that he’d finished those touch-ups, he worked the large circle of magic into a tiny ring around her swollen, sunken eyes. This damage would require precise healing. Globular organs were fragile things, after all, and she definitely valued them above all else. Their Tournament round confirmed that—and probably gave Dolos the idea to target them.

A heavy sigh left the Wizard’s lips at the thought. What a wretchedly inhumane thing to do to the poor girl. He’d painted Dolos as a scummy God, but never imagined he’d be capable of _this_. Certainly not the wisest decision, to allow him to enact Loki’s Punishment as he saw fit. That was going to be his only saving grace when arguing in the couple’s favor, later.

Merlin bent so close to the girl, his elongated chalky locks tickled the floor. He needed to ensure the nerves in her scleras reconnected properly. He chuckled at himself… if one did not know any better, he’d look like a prince about to kiss the sleeping beauty. 

At the corner of his eye (to his upper left), the other patient sat cross-legged at his beloved's shoulder. His right hand was enclosed in hers. His defeated gaze remained fixed on the floor, but he never neglected her side, nor released his gentle hold. Such darlings, they were. Utterly committed. So much so, the Knight had quickly agreed that despite the precarious state his body was in, the living girl took priority.

“Frown upside-down, Diarmuid, it’s ruining your flawless face.” He simply wished to cheer up the rueful man, but his light-hearted words instead caused his sandy orbs to sink further. “Now, now, don’t look so guilty. You did what you could.” 

Diarmuid’s eyes shuttered closed as he suffered from the agony in his chest cavity—plus the pure, utter uselessness he felt. The entire scene would vividly haunt him for a millennia to come, _if_ he survived that long, he supposed. “I did nothing, no, I could _do_ nothing,” he fussed, slamming the base of his tightly curled left palm into the rug. “ _Nothing,_ but get my arse handed to me.”

“I would not say that is entirely true~” Merlin’s voice was a symphony of sweetness. “You’ve accomplished many feats in the Arena, as well as outside it. Unfortunately, the wrong attention was caught. In lieu of the competition’s regulations, you’ve been restricted on what you could actually do; so stop being so hard on yourself, you are doing great!” 

Cheeky bloke. If only he could share the same laid-back attitude… but unfortunately for him, Diarmuid merely felt grim. His rescuer’s words held truth, but did nothing to ease the humiliation and dejection that he felt. His Lady had suffered tremendous wounds, her mental scars split open—yet all the while, she’d protected him when it should have been the complete opposite. 

Battered and broken, deep within himself he acknowledged they both were victims in this charade. It was that revelation alone that made him sick to the pit of his stomach. A failure of a Knight he was, indeed. 

His stare removed itself from the floor, falling instead upon Haley's dainty hand, slacked in his. It was so sleek and warm, a reminder of the fragile life she still held. The rolling of his competitor’s head and the immediate burst of fresh blood that had followed, flashed back as he shook his head. That particular woman chose her fate when deciding to mingle with Dolos, but he understood her need for revenge. She had lost one whom she’d considered precious a second time at his hands. 

Would he feel such remorse if something happened to the one he adored and cherished? Would he attempt to sink so low in grief, to avenge her? Revenge was a nasty thing, filled with despair and anger—resulting in needless violence and bloodshed. But now—as he glanced upon the mangled flesh of such a gentle and kind woman—he could understand. It triggered so many emotions to see her in such a state, when she had done _nothing_ to retrieve such treatment… it made his skin crawl. 

Even he was faultless—yet there was a target on his back once again, the detrimental wound in his center evidence of such madness. Diarmuid could not bring himself to gander at it. It reminded him all too graphically how much he had deviated from what he once was. A slight burden that was—given his relations with a living woman—but he digressed; she did not seem to mind. And that was the least of their concerns, anyway.

A repeated thud on the crooked door carried Diarmuid out of his thoughts, diverting his attention to the entryway. He stiffened, then squared his shoulders. Before the question could reach his tongue, the door swung completely away from Merlin’s magic, and the Observer Thardon appeared, along with that Observer from yesterday… wearing a miserable look of pity and remorse upon her face.

No longer frantic over the watch, he was able to take in her appearance. A fairly attractive soul she was, with sunlight yellow hair styled to her high cheekbones and sprawled across her broad shoulders. She wore shoulder armor, clamped tightly to a breast plate that stopped above her chest, and a matched frill swayed below it. Her knee-high steel boots glistened in the hall-light against tan skin.

Meanwhile, Thardon was clad from arm to the neck and down to his toes, an apathetic expression visible beneath his tight, wavy locks. His eyes flickered to Diarmuid with concern— so swiftly he’d almost missed it—before retraining them to the Wizard to the front left side of him. 

“I was unable to trace Lupo Adranga, it seems he has powerful concealment magic. However, I did locate Nelly in my search, who can shed some light on this… _phenomenon_.” 

The short woman—Nelly—stepped forward and cleared her throat. Her eyes latched onto Diarmuid and Haley with immense remorse and guilt. She raised her tear-stung hazel eyes to the working Wizard, who was yet to take his focus off the injured Psychic. “Merlin, sir, these two sought out my assistance for the best course of action. I offered to locate their watch, as it had been… lost, in the tournament, upon my search after the match-ups. When I found it, Dolos—” 

Diarmuid cringed at the fallen God’s name as she continued without missing a beat, “—offered to personally deliver it to them himself. I—had no right to question him—but looking at the damage he’d caused, I bloody wish I had.” 

He offered a half smile, when she met his gaze once more. Nelly shook her head. “I apologize, Forsa—Diarmuid, Haley. I had no intention of any of _this_ ,” she waved her hand at the room’s destruction, “happening. Not at all.” 

Merlin listened to the noise outside his little magical workshop. He dropped his eyelids, searching the present for the Magus—to no avail—and dramatically sighed. “Well, it’s certainly no good, I’m afraid. I cannot detect his presence either. This is some… questionably strong magic. I wonder if Loki is involved with concealing him, too. How unpleasant.” Locks swaying as he shook his head, he finished the work on the young lady’s eyes. 

“Does… this mean he could still come to us again?” The very idea made Diarmuid clench his jaw. He’d sooner have his head. 

“Possibly,” Merlin mused, scooting over to begin the Knight’s healing, his garment dragging behind him. “But I do not think so. I believe he will lie low for the time being, if he is a smart man.”

“He is.” 

Haley’s sharp voice cut into the conversation, pulling every eye in the room’s attention to her. She refused to meet their uneasy stares. Her right hand returned the comforting squeeze of her Knight before releasing it. She hugged her knees to her chest. “Apparently, he’s got some deal that when this is all over… If—when—I survive, I’ll be turned over to him.” 

The air fell stagnant. Haley felt chagrined by the amount of pity that was being thrown her way. Thousands of emotions were clawing their way out of the door she’d carefully locked them behind. All eyes were on her, but hers watered as she took in the sight of Diarmuid. 

What had she hauled him into? Her bounty was the primary cause of the disturbing suffering he’d been subjected to. It had come dangerously close to deforming his individuality into someone—or _something_ —else entirely. Whatever black magic Dolos had attempted felt as though it had intended to devour him… What the hell was that? That language he’d used—it was unfamiliar and didn’t seem like it was a common tongue of any country she’d visited. 

And why the hell was corrupting Diarmuid what Loki had intended to do?

One mystery after another, and enemies at every turn; the woeful woman had whiplash from all the confusing, conflicting directions. Her Knight (at the opposite end) had received worse blows. Nothing that had happened was entirely new to her; torture had once come daily… but that man’s trauma, she considered fresher—and it was entirely her fault. 

“I cannot— _will not_ let that happen,” Diarmuid said under his breath, with a deeply ingrained hatred for the man not worthy of the title ‘father’. 

Merlin hummed his own tune, as he examined Dolos’s cruel handiwork. Such an awful crevice—he could see directly through the torn muscle and tooth-like shards of ribs. Worst of all, was the nasty vulgarity (now richly renewed) in his heart. Regrettably, there was not much he could do about that. 

Mauve flow contorted around the Irishman to rebuild his broken pieces and relieve his organs of bruises. Once that was finished, he’d restore the skin, sealing the gashes and recreating the nerves and tissue. 

“Alright, the deed’s done,” Cu Chulainn emerged from the shadows, Achilles following in step. “He ain’t going to cause much trouble from the grave.” 

“Gonna be fun explaining all this to Loki and Athena,” Achilles’s eyes rolled, his armor dematerializing to leave him clothed in a charcoal suit. 

“I’ll tell Loki what happened, and collect the body,” Nelly interjected, bowing forward. 

Thardon clicked his tongue, “Athena won’t be happy—” (especially with everything _else_ that she’s been managing) “—but I think this is… fixable.”

The room fell silent until Merlin raised his blissful humming another note higher, rocking left and right to his own tune. “FINISHED! Right as rain, how do you feel?”

Diarmuid reluctantly smiled, dabbing where the cascade had flowed in his front, and bent forward. “I feel wonderful, thank you, truly.” He raised his head to reflect his appreciation. “For everything,” his glimmering orbs travelled the room to each of them, “And to all of you.” 

Heart throbbing against her rib-cage, Haley lifted her face, revealing her red-rimmed eyes. “Yes, thank you,” she whispered. Her legs quivered as she rose to stand.. Breathing was becoming difficult. Seeing all those who supported them today—against their _own,_ no less—some of whom she’d once thought to despise… all who had rescued them. 

They had no obligation to do so… they should have aided Dolos, if anything… “Thank you…” she hated the Panel, _hated_ them for what they put the competitors through but… today. Today she owed them her life. "For everything you've done… I—"

Blinking away the tears, she sniffled, touring the precarious characters in the much too small space. Her lips rolled together, a strangled sob cracking through when her watery vision landed on her Knight, who mouthed the words, ‘It’s okay,’ to her. 

She had broken the facade, then. Collapsing directly on top of Diarmuid, her arms wrapped around his back as she wept into the rip in his sweatshirt. “Diarmuid…! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” His burly arms enclosed around her immediately. “I’m so, _so_ sorry!” 

Merlin regained his posture and gave a lax wink to the two legends, whose faces bore rather lovely, condoling expressions for the little dearies. 

“Shhh, no, no, do not apologize. You have done _nothing_ wrong my love, _nothing,_ ” Diarmuid’s fingers combing through her frazzled locks, that somehow still remained soft, even after the beating they’d taken. 

“No, It _is_ my fault, he… he followed me all the way here… and you, **_you_** suffered for it, today! It’s my fault... It’s all my fault… I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I—” The Knight’s heart broke from the affliction in her voice as she fought to get the words out. "You were almost… corrupted… damn it all, you could have been… _gone…_! Diarmuid… I thought I’d _lost_ you…"

“I’m alright, and I am here… Lady Haley, I am still myself.” He leaned back and cupped her cheeks, lifting her damp face to look at him. “And it was the plotting of wicked individuals, nothing more.” His thumb swiped at the streaming waterfalls on her heated cheeks. “So repeat just as I say: it is not your fault.” She went to interrupt; he shook his head and glared. “Say it. It. Is. Not. Your. Fault.” 

Haley nibbled her lip as her heart skipped a beat. Diarmuid’s eyes were gleaming—she recognized that look. He too, was devastated and broken… he was attempting to remain a strong warrior, and a supportive man for _her,_ even while his heart was crumbling from his powerful sentiments. 

How someone as compassionate as Diarmuid wanted her, she hadn’t the slightest clue. Not in a thousand lifetimes—or in her dreams, had she ever believed he’d fall for _her_.... That he would comfort her. If he didn’t blame her for all this dreadful bounty, if he wanted her to believe the same, then...

Nodding, she dug her nose into his chest once more, taking in his scent, his unnatural chill, pleading with her soul to accept his words, despite how impossible it seemed. “It’s not… my fault.” She released the words, hoping to find solace in them, eventually, but for now—she would settle for the comfort of his tender caress. 

And as much as she hated herself for it—she swung open the locked door of all her innermost thoughts, insecurities, despair and finally relented to weeping without a care for how anguished she sounded.

Unable to say anything, Diarmuid held her. He would hold her until the pain eased, until the world stopped spinning—and even then, he’d keep her close. Nothing could match the level of hurt that tangled itself in her sobs. He felt like he’d been punched by them, so he kissed the patch of skin that would bloom with strands of hair to replace the old. 

Merlin cleared his throat, laying a consoling palm on Diarmuid’s shoulder. “There is much we must discuss, as well as take care of,” he said, as the man underneath him nodded into his woman’s locks, her sniveling slowing. “But for now, you two take the time you need.” 

The wizard waved his hands, the room reforming itself. The balcony’s construction was rebuilt, the glass sliding doors closing with plum shades blocking out the settled night. There was nothing left of the debris, and the couch at the right side was furnished again. He jerked his chin to the Heroic Spirits and inclined his head to the Observers. Dismissed. 

A broad smile tugged at the corners of Merlin’s lips, as he took in the two at his feet, still tightly knitted together. In fact, they seemed almost… whole. He had not been wrong, when he thought them to be interesting when he met them. 

“I shall return soon~!” The Mage of Flowers’s charm returned; he disappeared amidst rosy flower petals, leaving the couple to mourn, and comfort each other. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have much to say this chapter besides the conclusion to this madness was nerve wracking! Both these two were so underserving of their fate, and everyone came to their rescue. Thank goodness... So many more emotions through this, too ahh.... and still more to come. Look forward to seeing yall in the next update!


	55. Riddles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta for helping me fix some paragraphs and helping this chapter flow a bit better :)

Threats, there were so many threats. The enemies in the Arena were only small, collective pieces; now she understood that the menace they represented was merely one piece of the malevolent puzzle of a far grander scale. Haley would have to keep her crystal blue eyes peeled night and day if she were to have any hope of protecting her Knight against all their adversaries. Especially since all eyes of the Judge’s Panel were upon them now, after the very orchestrator of the Tournament went so far as to attempt to  _ alter _ his very existence. 

And Haley didn’t understand why. 

They were two idiots infatuated with each other, attempting to reverse a fate far too cold for the warm Spirit that was Diarmuid ua Duibhne. Sure, he had conflicted moments, and lost himself in the misery of his two lives; still, that was normal for those suffering through such grief. Why punish him for wanting to regain his honor and have that tossed into the dumpster like trash by so many individuals around him, when he had only been trying his best? For trying to uphold codes of conduct, and chivalry?

Being kind to others, and finding ways to what is right should not be deader than the souls in the Underworld. And he knew that—he fought for it, and was spat on by all surrounding him for yet a second time. So when all of that anguish came to light after he’d kept it deep within himself— when the evils of the world twisted those emotions into hideous curses and manipulated his Spirit—why didn’t any of these forces (such as the Counter Guardians or Gods) help him?

Why did they expect her to sit back and watch as they left this man behind?

Hearing his guttural cry haunted Haley’s dreams. It connected to her drive to aid where she could, and ingrained deep into her heart. Her glass was not half empty or full—it was devoid of  _ anything  _ until she’d find the path that led to her beloved’s safety. 

When the nightmares struck harder than the impact of crashing steel against steel, she’d scream out against them, her voice lost in the manipulations and debilitating metaphors. Loss was always a part of the drastic assaults—whether it being her own life at the hands of a competitor, or Loki’s miserable hide, or the gruesome bursting of Diarmuid’s heart having him dragged to the pits of Hell—it all felt the same.

Devastating. 

A desperate screech would leave her heart as it’d seek refuge anywhere but its proper home behind her rib cage. It felt wretchedly exposed there, just waiting to be found by Dolos’s deathly hand. A howling call from her stomach as it shrank to avoid another carefully planted kick to expel its contents. 

The eerie voice of her father—pledging to snatch her from the Underworld when the time came. When she saved Diarmuid, would that be the misfortune that awaited her? Years of concealing herself and trying to restore and recover her reputation, just to sink to the depths of torture, thanks to an anchor at her heels? To become whatever it is that he schemed?

There was a darkness in sleep that was aloof and foreign, like the stare in Lupo’s leafy green eyes. It terrified her. As if the shredding of her skin, the breaking of her limbs were not enough to subdue her. The pain being dealt to her intensified and dragged Diarmuid along with it. He too, was now suffering the torture but not from her father, no, but from his own perpetrators in the Underworld.

_ You can never save him, not as you are. He will fall, a pitiful, miserable fall, and Tartarus will take him as you  _ **_watch_ ** _ and can do  _ **_nothing_ ** . 

Haley shot up from her Knight’s lap, Adranga’s words still vivid in her mindset. He’d whispered that, when Dolos had his heart clenched tightly in his grasp. She spun, the blankets toppling over the side of the luxurious bed as she frantically examined his chest. She expelled a relieved sigh, when no damage was sighted. Merlin’s gift of magic had patched him up nicely, thank the Gods...

...And she cursed them. Cursed Merlin, her father, that damned Judge’s Panel that determined their fates and created this endless labyrinth of suffering. Screw these petulant Gods that dangled a forbidden hope that enduring this suffering would lead at least one of them away from Divine punishment. There was nothing left, she felt. No hope. Just the two of them together, clinging to the only bit of happiness either of them had ever had. Something that was twisted and turned against them so abhorrently that her heart shrieked.

“My goodness, my Lady!” Diarmuid exclaimed, then relaxed into the propped up pillows behind him, running a concerned palm down the back of her nightgown. “Are you alright?” he said more softly, resting his chin upon the crown of her smooth head. 

Tears stung the corners of her eyes as Haley buried herself into the center of his loose t-shirt, and clutched the hard muscle of his back. “I am okay, just… a bad dream. As always…” The dreams represented the thoughts of what they'd be willingly throwing themselves back into where the tournament was concerned—but she had had enough of being at the receiving end of Diarmuid's pity, even if it were just because he simply  _ cared.  _ Shit, she didn't feel as though she deserved him.

The Knight merely nodded, gliding his fingers through the length of her chestnut locks, taking care to avoid the patch where she’d have to wait for the strands to fill in once again. He hated seeing her like this. He hated  _ feeling  _ like this. There was little he could do against the Panel. They were pure, Heroic Spirits and Gods, and he… well, he was but a shell of what he used to be...  _ Who _ he once was. 

His pride had taken a hit: his ego was bruised from indignity and guilt. His defenses against the power Dolos deployed—pitiful. He was certain that eventually he would have fallen into that dark cloud of despair...

Even now—hours after—those shadows yet lured him to taste the forbidden fruit… To let go and become that version of himself that he vigorously disdained. It was slight, nurturing itself inside the realms of his heart. He knew the evils from the Grail continued to rest within him, even after his curse was relinquished… He felt it at the center of his core, but it lay dormant with the tiniest of pulls. 

How had Loki been able to inform Dolos of it, and wield him the power to wake that shuddering malignant piece? Still, it haunted him. That level of malevolence curtained the entire hotel room, maybe extended further. It was—dare he say it—terrifying. Was there a way to remove it from him, or at least silence it once more?

For one reason or another, Diarmuid didn’t think that the Lady knew of it, or knew how to extract it. Thus, he decided not to burden her with those questions. Involving her any deeper into this madness simply guaranteed she would be affected. He could not bear to see her look like a frightened animal, not any longer. He could figure this one out himself, and avoid dragging her into harm’s way. Since he suspected Merlin might have the answers, he would find time to hopefully enquire with him about it. 

His darling’s breathing slowed from whatever fright she’d experienced in her dreams. She’d moved her head from the center of his sternum, adjusting it to fit to the soft space between the Knight’s neck and chest. Her heat rushed through him, dazzling the space with a gentle warmth. He savored that feeling, and brought his arm around her shoulder, feeling content. 

She wore a lingering smile that tugged up her lips, accompanied by a serene blush on her cheeks (stained with a few, stray tears). While he knew she was hurting, the level of comfort expressed all over her features did wondrous things to his insides. It lit a beacon of bliss, and healed the scars of his failures to keep her safe, because in this moment: her relaxation in his hold proved she still trusted him with her safety and comfort. 

Kissing the side of her temple, Diarmuid lifted his gaze to the ceiling for the hundredth time—as if it'd make sense of everything that had happened this night and all the madness they'd endured.

The Lady sighed into his shirt, clutching the fabric tightly in her small hand. "Diarmuid… how are you taking this...? Are you… are you okay?" The quiet sadness in her voice made the light he'd felt earlier flicker.

Honestly? He truly hadn't a clue. There were so many conflicting emotions in his heart and his head struggled as he tried to comprehend it all. "I'm managing," he muttered; it was the best explanation he could muster.

She squeezed the fabric tighter. "Is... there anything I can do?"

He kissed the crown of her head. "Best you can do for me is regain your strength. I will be alright." As he  _ would  _ be. While his mind yet strained to remain clear, he could rise above it. His strength dwelled in his merit and ambition, and she had inspired him—on more than one occasion—to find ways to deal with his emotions. "I will not falter, no matter their attempts to break me."

That statement, the utter strength in his words… Haley believed him. There would be no standing against her courageous, tragic Knight. If he could remain true… not let their wickedness defile him, then maybe…

“Me t—” she began, but was interrupted by a brewing magic circle at the center of their reconstructed room, revealing Merlin in his usual white cloak and black, wide-legged culottes. His blanket of hair flowed from the powerful energy. 

“Hello my darlings, sorry to interrupt. But young lady, I wish to speak with you, now that you’ve awoken.” Merlin’s voice was as rollicking as ever, and it was quite refreshing, given what had happened. 

Eyes peering through her lashes at the narrow smile on Diarmuid’s face, she brought her lips to his and grazed the knuckle of her curled index finger over his brow before pulling away. Before she could slip off his cool form, he gave her a reassuring squeeze of the hand that warmed her heart. 

Merlin waited patiently for the couple to break apart. Even after his departure, he’d kept a close eye on them through his clairvoyance. The last thing he needed was to have Athena or  _ Loki _ pay them a visit next. The chances of that were slim, but one could not be too careful, or certain, anymore.

Under his watchful eye, the two of them had never parted. Even as they’d changed attire, Diarmuid had helped the drained woman out of her clothes (of course, the wizard had averted his eyes). Haley had quickly returned the favor, and off they were into that massive bed. There, they had remained snuggled closely together until Merlin’s appearance. 

They truly were inseparably adorable. ‘Twas entirely a shame that this insufferable place was where their affections had come to be. 

Stepping in front of the Grand Caster, Haley stuffed her hands into the pockets of her long gown. “Let’s go,” was all she said. The faster she had this conversation, the sooner she could return to equanimity with her Knight.

Tapping the butt of his long staff on the floor, Merlin teased, “Do not look so pleased to be within my company,” as he and the lady teleported from the room.

Diarmuid stared at the empty space where the two had disappeared from. She was gone for a few seconds, and already her heat had faded from his system. Her gentle farewell beckoned him to follow, to ensure no foul play would present itself. By this point, he should come to trust the Mage of Flowers, but somehow, he could not will himself do so… not completely.

For no matter how much he tried to overlook it: something in his gut told him that even  _ he _ was searching for something… plotting and scheming. He'd learned to trust that instinct—his warrior’s intuition. And he had no idea if it were a good thing, or bad thing… just that somehow, it involved him and his Lady, and he  _ definitely _ did not like it.

——————————

Every second of what had happened ticked by with horrific clarity. Athena was enraged this all happened under her supervision, and that a God was  _ dead _ from the ordeal. She had ordered their elimination from the tournament just to settle things with Loki, but Merlin had argued for them to come out of that ordeal with his “love of the crowd” spiel... and his insistence they had not orchestrated any of that awfulness.

Loki, oh  _ Loki _ —was another infuriated God. This was  _ his _ punishment and had been performed so foully. Apparently, he rejected the responsibility of Dolos; convinced the others that while yes, he sent Dolos with the father, he had not intended for Diarmuid to succumb to the spell craft his partner utilized. Haley called bullshit on that, but it was just…  _ whatever _ . Not like they’d listen to her about it, anyway.

The third round of Boss Battles would not be postponed, and remained scheduled to kick back up in thirty hours, as planned. For Haley and Diarmuid to claim responsibility for the mayhem—they were to face Loki next, instead of the random selection.  _ That _ made the woman anxious. 

“Of course, you are being offered another option,” Merlin lifted his pointer finger to the sky thoughtfully, his whimsical smile never faltering.

Haley waited, as the Magician worked out his play with a dramatic pause. “You can return to the world of the living,” he went on, and she took a step forward, taking in his offer. “It has been confirmed that there is a deal in place with your wretched father that we cannot undo, and of course, you have endured so much already. If you remain here, there is the tournament, but also that unfortunate thing for you, should you survive the rest. If you were to leave now…” 

She didn’t need to listen to him finish. If she were to retreat from the competition early while her father remained unsuspecting—then safety from the bounty would await her. Well, as safe as travelling far-far away from Fuyuki, Japan could bring her while she still attempted to rid herself of the thing… to taste what  _ freedom _ is truly like. 

_ “It is as glorious as the stars above us. As grand and wide as the sky expands. To be free is to have utmost happiness, in every sense of the word.” _

No matter how many times she had promised herself to become strong, and not cry ever again, the haze filled her eyes and threatened to spill.  _ Diarmuid _ had said those wonderfully consoling words right here, on this very rooftop. In this very spot… in a beautiful moment they had shared together, doodling the stars into various creations from their imagination. Did Merlin bring them here for that reason?

The wind blew elegantly, fanning Haley’s marvelously long hair in its cool breath. She withdrew her watery gaze from the flashing lights of the Dome below—the contestants returning to the Hotel—to raise them to the cosmic freckles above. 

“What would happen to Diarmuid?” she asked, though the answer was glaringly obvious. Still, the woman had to hear it directly from the jerk’s mouth.

Merlin dipped his hand into the thickness of his white hair, “You know the answer.” The glare she shot his way actually made him giggle nervously, causing him to add, “He will be gone. It would be swift, tho—” 

“I can’t leave him,” was all she implacably replied.  _ No way in hell _ would she betray Diarmuid like that, even if it meant escaping who she feared most. Sacrificing her Knight’s outcome for a few more months—maybe a year or two, even—was not worth his soul. 

Crossing paths with her father was inevitable, anyway. She had to deal with him at some point. If she’d learned anything during her journey thus far with Diarmuid, it was that she could not hide or run forever. Haley was determined to collide with him head-on, with this all over. It was time to be as powerful as her beloved, and utilize whatever strength he believed her to have in resolving that matter. Enough was  _ enough _ .

That being said, Merlin drifted to her side. He was so stealthy, she hadn’t even heard him breathe as he sat on the roof’s stone. “That is mighty brave of you—or is it foolish?” he observed, his lilac hues glistening in the moonlight.

Haley rested her hands on the brisk concrete, unrelenting in her fixation on the galaxy above. She nibbled on the bait he was dangling before her. “I don’t care… Diarmuid is… precious to me. I don’t… understand it—but I can’t imagine living any sort of life… knowing that he is suffering for eternity.” 

Merlin nodded his head histrionically. A long pause of silence travelled between them, until… “You love him,” he spoke the words in a soft, light tone. It was as if that statement was the most beautiful thing he’d ever had the pleasure to taste on his tongue.

More stillness lingered in the night’s crisp air. “Love…” Haley experimented with the word rolling off her lips. Was that… what it was? In all her life, aside from the maternal love she’d received from her mother… never had she spoken that emotion again. 

She was so broken, and torn apart from her father’s deception that she never let anyone else in. Recoiled from the slightest touch of anyone in concealing herself. Kept herself at a distance as not to risk giving away her location to someone who’d turn her in. Hid behind illusions, diversions, whatever she could muster.

Even when she travelled down the river to Diarmuid in Hell’s Lobby, she kept on that mask. However, it had caused a rift between them—had made him mistrust to the point her life was in his hands. Literally. 

Just when… did all of those barriers she’d hidden behind break down, and why so easily? Why was… the Irishman from Celtic Myth the only person capable of wedging into the cracks of her resistance to let anyone in? Was it… because of how much she’d read about him, and knew what kind of person he’d turn out to be when relinquishing the curse, or was it… more?

The thought had her lowering her gaze to the balcony below, the very person in question stepping out to bend over the railing. His figure basked in the glow of midnight, reminding her of the time she’d joined him there at his side. It was the first time he’d opened up to her, and offered her a glimpse of his playful side. 

They had grown so close since then. Disclosing details of each of their lives, fighting battles side-by-side, and looking out for one another. Shared intimate parts of themselves with the other person's enjoyment in mind. Love… she  _ loved  _ him. 

There was no other explanation for how… how determined she had become. How engraved in responsibility for his brighter future that she’d made herself. She’d stood up to the Panel, defied them with her best efforts, not fearing the consequences, so long as he understood she would  _ never _ forsake him like others have. 

Her heart fluttered like a butterfly at the thought, and the tears finally slipped down her cheeks. “Oh Merlin…” He angled his face to hers with his familiar, insufferable smirk… but it had a gentleness to it, an  _ understanding, _ that made her feel at ease. “It… this… wasn’t supposed to happen… I didn’t set out to fall so hard like this. I was... only here to assist him to get a better end. Not… not all  _ this. _ But now… I cannot imagine a world without him.”

“Mhmm, mhmm, yes, I can definitely see that.” Haley soughed a long sigh at the wizard’s response. Since he was here, maybe she would try again to get some concrete answers.

“Diarmuid is a good person. He shouldn’t be here, Merlin. He’s a  _ Heroic Spirit, _ not some malicious spirit.” She shook her head—just saying that made her feel like she bathed in mud… Grimy and disgusting for even suggesting he was anything else. “Yet he’s here… accepting whatever outcome he’ll receive and I just…  _ can’t stand it _ . If I hadn’t run away then… if my catalyst hadn’t have been given to Kayneth… then maybe he wouldn’t have suffered the way he did.”

Finally relinquishing that fact to someone helped her to feel some reprieve from the guilt she’d been holding. Curiosity was what led her to find the answers to the Grail War and the outcome of her Hero. That remorse led her here… led her to Diarmuid. 

“I'd do anything to keep him safe, Merlin. And for whatever reason, that still doesn't feel like it'd be enough! So please, tell me—isn’t there  _ something _ we could do to help him? I'll do whatever it takes!" 

There it was again, gleaming in her shiny, glacier-blue orbs; a determination that riled even Merlin’s ancient heart. Such passion in one who he’d initially thought such a submissive, fearful girl. There was an anthem singing in her heart whenever she spoke of that Celtic Warrior. It was quite the fearsome tune. 

Unfortunately, there was only so much he could say or do. Altering one’s destiny, and leading them down the path they needed to reach it—all of which he enjoyed watching, and playing some mischievous parts in. So what course of action should the Mage of Flowers take here, when this woman dearly wants to save her lover? 

“Haley, saving him is no simple task, as you are aware. His Spirit was rejected from the Throne of Heroes itself, rerouted here by a deal between the Counter Force and  _ Hades _ himself. Unfortunately, there is not much that can be done.” Bitterness deprived that woman of her beautiful features as he spoke what truth he knew. “I understand your heart, and how you question whether or not he should be here—” 

Now it was his time to give her the push she needed into the right direction. “So if you decide to remain here, I can only  _ suggest  _ you make it to the end. Continue doing what you believe is right, and you’ll find the answers you seek. Just know, if you choose the path that involves Diarmuid, well,” the Clairvoyant turned on his heels, fuchsia petals twinkling behind him with every step he took, “Be ready for the difficult choices coming your way, but trust your heart and judgement. Tell me your decision to stay or go—I will be listening!” 

Before Haley could ask what the hell any of that meant, the riddling half-incubus disappeared. A single flower petal drifted through the breeze into Haley’s palm. “This… is the same kind of petals from those bushes alongside the lake…” she whispered, smoothing the velvety surface before it disappeared. 

None of what Merlin said helped her in the slightest. All it did was confirm that she needed to stay here, and keep trying to find a way to help Diarmuid outside the tournament. Maybe that's what he was hinting at. If he could see everything that happened in the present, then how far-fetched would it be that he was watching her blasphemous act against the Panel? 

Well, if that were true—at least he was overlooking it. Maybe his hinting at that was proof that he really was on their side, that he could be trusted in some way. Merlin was the advisor to King Arthur, and if she remembered correctly, spoke in that strange tongue to him, too… all to lead him into whatever he was supposed to do as King, so maybe…

Taking a final glance at the majestic clutter of beaming lights in the sky, Haley raised her index finger to point to individual dots, starting from the middle, curving on the left, before replicating that on the right side… and then she smiled.

—————————

Diarmuid absorbed the information she relayed to him. He’d figured as much. The Magus was definitely plotting, well,  _ something _ —but had given his Lady the choice if she were to partake in it or not. At least, that was what he gathered from whatever that lengthy mystification was. 

His arms crossed on the bar overlooking the grounds below and the path to the Dome that enclosed the Arena. It was cooler outside, crisp enough that the lass pulled his jacket tighter to her person. He of course was unbothered by it, enjoying the chill that made his hair wave.

A moment of calm, as he contemplated what best to say to the proposition laid out before them. She could leave. Forfeit the tournament and return the living world. What would await there, the Irishman didn’t know. He was aware that she could use the extra time to avoid her father knowing her whereabouts… but if he had locks of her hair ripped from the roots… The damn bastard was attempting to track her.

He prepared for this—certainly he’d had to consider it. Still. There was hope for her to somehow escape him, more hope than in staying here, guaranteeing to be captured. Away from here, maybe she could prove her case to someone, do anything to prevent this bounty from being completely fulfilled. She would also be  _ safe _ from Loki’s dreadful eye, and from whatever other horrors the tournament had coming their way. 

If it meant her welfare wasn’t in jeopardy, of course he’d attempt to persuade her to take it. The only issue was—she’d be gone. He’d never… see her again. Despite himself and his wishes for her to prosper, it'd hurt… Ending things so soon, not exploring where their relationship could lead, if somehow Merlin was hinting it were possible for them to stay together…

Ah, it was all so frustratingly difficult. Ultimately, the decision was hers, and instead of dwelling on the matter himself, it would be best if he waited for her choice. Whatever it may be, he would support her. Her deciding her fate mattered most—so she would not have regrets.

“It has been really tough on you,” Diarmuid spoke dolefully. Gently, he pulled her by the arm into his embrace and affectionately brushed through her bangs. He gazed into the mesmerizing sea that was her orbs… a gaze that offered him nothing but fondness with a hint of sadness. “I would not hold it against you if you were to leave for your own safety. As a Knight—I cannot and will not put my predicaments above your wellbeing.” 

Yes—that was the honorable thing to do. As her Knight and sworn protector… he could let her go. Watching her forever walk away from him now would irrevocably cleave his non-beating heart into a million shattered shards but his former existences had been lived in the dogged pursuit and belief in chivalry and honor—he must sacrifice his own selfish yearning for his Lady, if it meant keeping her safe from the evil and violence awaiting her around every shadowed corner of this cruel, hellish place. And if that was her true wish, he would never argue against it… 

The look she had given was agonizing to his spirit. It was as if he’d ripped the rug out from underneath her, leaving her tangled in it. Before she could retort he added: “I—do not wish for you to go… It would just be rather selfish of me.” His eyes never left hers, as he ran his thumb over her heated blush.

“Then why…” she whispered so softly he had to lean in to hear, her entire demeanor slumping. “Why send me away?”

Because he was a failure, and more and more seemingly incapable of keeping her safe. He’d made that mistake twice, leaving those he sought to protect helpless—and it had ended in misfortune. 

“Capable as I am, despite this… my history has always ended in failure. While I’ve come to terms with it—I do not want you to fall victim to it, any longer. I haven't always been able to protect you. You’ve taken countless pain for my security. I…” he gripped the necklace in his hand, “While your sentiment grants my heart peace, I am unworthy of the title, ‘Hero’.” 

The Lady took a light step back scanning his face for what he did not know. As if finally deciding on what she were to say, a gentle smile overtook her lips.

“Diarmuid… You _died_ saving Fionn and the Fianna from a deadly Boar. You _cho_ se to do that, and with weapons you _knew_ wouldn’t carry you through the fight, but that didn’t matter. What _mattered_ to you, was the _lives_ of your friends that you chose to _save._ That… Diarmuid, that makes you a hero. And the funny thing is: it’s only a part of the good deeds and the heroism accomplished in your life.” She put her hand on top of his.

The Knight could do naught but dazedly blink at their connected hands. His elation over Haley’s vehement assurances warred with his long-held belief that he was unworthy of the title ‘hero’; unworthy of being adulated… and loved. So many times in his complicated past, he had been scorned, mocked, reviled—called a failure, a disappointment, a weak facsimile of a courtly warrior. 

Though it was not the first time his Lady had sought to impress upon him that he was valued, and treasured—somehow, this time (knowing the incredibly difficult choice she now faced) the words hit home like a blow from his beloved Gae Dearg. He all but crumpled as the sheer, valiant strength of her whole-hearted assertions washed through his soul like a cleansing summer rainshower.

“I—have regretted my actions, have never once thought the time of my life was worthy of any praise. So much so, I had been thrust here, when I’d lost myself in bitterness from repeating that sad fate…” he turned away, glimpsing the peppered sky, the glowing moonlight illuminating the shine in his golden eyes. “You… truly believe I am a Hero? Even after what we have been through?”

Haley leaned into his body, curling her arms around his waist. Love… if that’s what she truly felt... then, it’d been present for a long time, the reality that this man held a special place in her heart. Diarmuid needed to know, needed to see his value in her eyes. “Let me tell you… a story.” 

When he turned her way and kissed the top of her forehead, humming his approval, she started off on a tangent.

A story of how, when she was brought books of Ireland’s heroes, she’d sifted through page after page, ravenously sucking up in the knowledge of Legends like a vacuum. One novel in particular had caught her eye, making her scoff. Even at eleven years old, she knew manipulation… not just from folklore but from life, and it was mind-boggling that a man with a “charm spell” could be referred to as a hero.

Diarmuid chuckled lightly at that, and she pulled him closer. The sound of him laughing would always still her heart. Allowing that feeling to envelop the beats of her heart, she continued. 

Haley had given the tale a chance—maybe there was something redeemable about this strange, lovespotted man. And as she flipped through the pages, she’d found herself enraptured by what she’d read. He was a Knight whose blankets were the closest substitute he’d had to a warm fire. Then a woman, drenched and disgusting from whatever journey she’d travelled, had begged for a place to sleep but none of the Fianna had offered her help.

Except Diarmuid, who’d granted her his sleeping area without question; had upheld his oath, and never harmed her. He’d travelled throughout Ireland, to save her from some strange disease Haley’s little self hadn’t understood; he’d slain an entire army of men single-handedly to be rewarded with the antidote to help her. 

What she’d admired most: was that he was warned if he continued on his quest to save her, that he would lose his love for the loathly lady; his duty and love kept him moving forward, however. 

“It was the first thing about you I read, and I loved it.” Haley pecked his chest, tracing the scar on his back that she could feel through the fabric of his thin shirt. “I couldn’t stop finding tales about your legend after that. Sometimes, in that cold, lonely, padded room, I would clutch that book tightly to my person, and wish it were me… that was saved… or that someone would come to my rescue.” She shook her head. “Anyway… then I met you here and… well...”

...Then she had seen his memories—those terribly twisted bits of his fate that darkened his resolve, the people who left him to suffer. His life, slipping through Fionn’s hands; his life ended by his own hands, at the mercy of a command spell. Nothing but wicked endings for the Knight who had done nothing but serve and protect those he’d loved and cherished. A man who fought for brilliance and loyalty, and never received it back. Until now.

“Diarmuid, no matter what happens—I am nothing but  _ loyal _ to you, I could  _ never  _ leave you. Even if it were for my own benefit…” Haley murmured her vow, raising her hues to lock onto his. They shimmered (almost captivated) she thought, and it raised the hope that he would understand. “I’m keeping my promise to you… no matter what they try. I won’t leave your side, just as you wouldn’t leave mine. Because no matter what, you have saved me, too. Being with you—I wouldn’t trade it for  _ anything _ .” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this was an angsty chapter... but we learn a little more about how Haley knows shows much about Diarmuid's past outside what she's seen in his memories; and how Diarmuid is faring after that painful experience. And did anything catch the meaning of the flower petals? That was technically an answer to a previous question one of these character's had earlier in the story... :P 
> 
> That being said, it was pretty obvious what Haley was going to choose, and of course Merlin probably knew that too... hmmm... what exactly is he getting at!?
> 
> Hope yall enjoyed this chapter! more emotions coming our way, ahhh


	56. Affinity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, 7600 words later and this scene became my longest chapter but I feel it was sooo worth. Definitely like, one of my favorite chapters. I want to personally thank my beta (Valancyjane74 on Ao3) for helping me evolve this scene and weed out the nonsense, fix some dialogue, enhance some paragraphs with better details and light. Her writing is a Godsend, give her work a shot and Enjoy!

Haley’s words—kind and gentle as ever, just like her lovely self—slammed into Diarmuid like a juggernaut. Everything she said resonated with devotion and truth; learning that her compassion for him reached as far back as her youth almost made him stagger, such was the emotional impact it had upon him. To be seen as a beacon of hope… as a shining example of morality and goodness, when her life had so often been a morass of sorrow and bleakness… her avid adoration of his unworthy self finally made more sense. 

He gripped the dog-tag at the end of the silver necklace at his sternum. He was her Hero, and she was going to remain with him despite the odds. Fate seemed to have entangled their threads to bring them together, and he couldn’t be any happier. “Lady Haley, you never cease… to amaze me. Thank you, truly.”

Diarmuid cupped her warm, delicate cheeks. The world vanished when their lips met; hers were so soft, and welcoming. The tip of his tongue brushed against her lovely lower lip. Her mouth parted, granting him access to a deeper osculation. Her hands clutched at his back, bringing him closer until their bodies touched. Her natural heat spread along his own cold skin, igniting a more desperate fire in their tangled mouths. 

The pads of his fingertips eagerly kneaded the curves of her figure while they hungrily (but slowly) kissed each other. Time was invaluable in this moment, with their lips locked and his heart captured. His other hand slipped under the folds of her jacket, moving the fabric over her shoulder. The jacket toppled over, dangling at her back to expose the silk fabric of her cyanic night-robe; Haley hurriedly wriggled out of the coat, leaving the garment to crumple on the floor of the terrace. 

He left her breathless when they drifted apart. Still lingering over the taste of her Knight, Haley lifted her gaze to Diarmuid’s honey orbs. They appeared golden as they glistened in the night's sheltering light. They were so inviting, tempting—like her favorite treat.

"Caramel…" she said quietly.

Diarmuid cocked his head. His hands—oh, his hands!—drifted down her sides and landed on her hips, tugging her closer. "What?" he asked, eyebrows furrowing while he dipped to give her appreciative smooches, scattering them across the bare skin of her shoulder. 

Those kisses melted her skin everywhere they landed. Haley found herself reluctantly tilting back her head in response, exposing—nay, awkwardly  _ inviting _ —him to sample the tender flesh of her vulnerable throat. "Mmm… your eyes… I used to think they were sweet as honey… but no, they're rich like caramel." Her voice emerged huskily, as she bit back a moan. The man was incredibly talented with his mouth, leaving her unsure of exactly she should be doing in response. 

The Knight accepted her invitation, moving to suckle the crease of her neck. "What is caramel?" he purred into her velvety skin, thinking it must be something from beyond his time. 

"You don't know what caramel is!?” Haley dramatically pulled away from his blinking features. “Oh you poor, deprived thing! We have to rectify that.” 

Diarmuid chuckled, the sound resembling a low rumble from his chest. “Of all things to discuss right now…” he shook his head, his smile widening. “I swear,  _ you  _ are the  _ sweetest  _ thing I’ve ever known.” 

“I say what’s on my mind,” Haley shrugged. She licked her lip, shifting her hands from the gleaming man’s back (never letting her palms leave his body) to his midriff. She twined her fingers into the bottom of his t-shirt. “May I…?” 

“You need never ask permission to touch me; I am your Knight in any and every which way you desire.” His muscled arms raised, while his Lady lifted the shirt to his head. The two shared jovial laughter when it snagged in his brushed-back locks, causing Haley to struggle to fully remove the garb. Naturally he helped her, wiggling out of the fabric and allowing it join his jacket on the floor. 

Not skipping a beat, Diarmuid couldn’t resist locking together their faces again. His hands threaded into the thickness of her auburn hair, careful to evade her injury. His heart was captivated by how she delicately brushed over each blemish from his past. He succumbed to her roaming, his breath catching delightfully in his chest. The way she tenderly explored him left him utterly vulnerable to her touch; he cherished the feeling.

When she relinquished their French kiss, part of him wanted to reel her back in. He wondered if she saw him as he did her in this moment: wholly desirable. But her fingers halted on his sternum, and her eyes glistened with silver as she dropped her forehead to where her hand once lay. "It never… should have happened…" she breathed, pressing her lips to the phantom hole that had once been there. 

Her sorrow resonated deep within Diarmuid, as she held her kiss at the surface of the old wound once had been. He thumbed her chin, shifting her to look upon him. "We survived, that's all that matters."

“Did we…?” A light whisper, her heated breath tickling his skin. 

He gently brushed his knuckles underneath her bangs, the strands slipping over his hand as he cupped and thumbed her cheekbone admiring her exquisite features. “We did… and my Lady, we will always survive it. It… is what we do, after all.” 

_ It’s what we do _ … Haley leaned into his palm, expelling a contented sigh through her nostrils. Diarmuid was right. This tournament had definitely dragged them through one perilous encounter after another, and they’d always persisted, even if they were left broken and battered afterward. Though so long as they had each other to mend those wounds…

_ Love… _ each other. “Diar…” After sparing a kiss to his wrist, her other hand skimmed his bare back as she peered up at him. His marvelously handsome face offered her the most compassionate of smiles. “I…” Why the words caught in her throat, she didn’t know; instead she said with as much heart as she could muster, “I can’t… imagine life without you… which is why it hurts too much seeing anything happen to you. You’re more than just my hero…” she dotingly fondled the jewelry he’d refused to take off. “You’re my  _ everything. _ ”

If the world were on its last legs, Diarmuid wouldn’t know. Time had just frozen over in the intricately beautiful scene that his lovely lady had created. He’d instantly forgotten all their turmoil, all the issues they’d eventually have to face, lost as he was to the beautiful woman before him. He wasn’t sure when—or how—his hands ended up on either side of her pinkened cheeks, or when his mouth found hers once more. 

All he knew was that he desired her more now than anything else. He was never perfect with his words, but each movement of their lips together spoke every promise he could make. His hands mapped her voluptuous figure, expressing every dream she had made real. 

Steadily, he expanded his exploration, tucking his fingers underneath the slit in her negligee that came together at chest height. He worked his fingertips lightly over her skin, favoring the subtle gasp she let slip. When she didn’t flinch nor protest how close he’d come to her undergarments, he found himself fiddling underneath the knitting and plucking at her barely perceptible buds. 

Haley pulled away ever so slightly then, using the pause to return his favor and nip down his pectorals. Feeling a little frisky, she nabbed the threading of her robe and undid the tie to reveal herself, but didn’t completely remove the garb. Her eyes found his: they sparkled with admiration and what she could only deduce was pure adoration of her. For someone to look at her with such deep infatuation, it was beyond her wildest imagination.

He hadn’t stopped his intimate perusal as he’d rolled the pads of his fingers over her nipples, but he’d leaned close, his breath catching her ear as he’d murmured, “You are wonderful, beautiful.” He released her hardened peaks, gliding to her back and unsnapping the hooks: the brassiere was tossed to the side, leaving her gloriously bare before him. “And you’re everything I needed to become whole again.” 

Haley’s response hitched in her throat, her mouth wobbling slightly. Just hearing him solidify their connection was enough to rattle her senses. It was a miracle she wasn’t shedding the happiest tears of her life, especially when Diarmuid tightened his grip around her and tugged her in close. 

“Come…” she whispered, curling her fingers into his and guiding them towards the massive bed. He fell in step behind her. When she found herself at the edge of the mattress she laid back, slack against the sheets, her index finger tracing his scars. It was clear in her mind what she wanted, and she would do her best to express it, despite how anxious she was about it.

Diarmuid climbed onto their bed, his arms at either side of her; his grand figure hovered over the slender woman’s frame. He inspected every inch that was laid bare where the night-robe allowed: the roundness of her breasts, the hardened nubs that begged for his attention… her sleek legs beckoned to him, shining like pale marble through the crease of her gown. Every inch of her body needed to (and would soon) know how much he adored it… Adored  _ her.  _

In truth, what had always mesmerized him were her magnificent crystal-blue eyes that shone bright in contrast to her robe—eyes that ever regarded him with such affection and attachment. The stupid charm spell always overtook the women he’d previously been with. Even in his tryst with the Loathly Lady—the very story this woman revered—she had fallen for the spot. This—this courtship was  _ different _ .

His Lady had never been influenced by the magic. Diarmuid could not be any more grateful that she cared for him, sacrificed for him, and was devoted to him, for  _ who he was _ , entirely. It was her choice—and hers alone—to have her heart flutter for his own; it was her decision to wish to be with him in all the ways they had, and in this instance now. He had to show her—he had to  _ give  _ her everything her little heart desired, to show how much he respected and returned those same feelings. 

So he bent, tasting her mouth once more, inhaling her vanilla scent, combing through her lustrous hair, before dipping to her jaw with a gentle kiss. With feather-like delicacy, her fingertips traced the groove of his spine so tenderly,  _ sensuously _ —it was nothing short of electric and left him elated. Her labored breaths merely edged him further down her body, worshipping her with his mouth, all the way to her neglected, rosy perks.

Haley's fingers trembled as they enveloped this beautiful Soul, tracing each corded muscle, reveling at his warrior’s body. Her Knight was perfect in every way. He was rigid in all the right places, sweet wherever he skimmed along her aching body, taking special care and always casting checking glances her way. Every sweep of his tongue along her breasts, her bruises, did nothing but ignite a satisfying urge deep within her core.

He redirected his mouth upward, into the bend of her neck where it met her shoulder, and sucked lightly on her skin. The titillation was incredible to her demeanor as she raked her hands through his dark, raven hair. 

Diarmuid relaxed his body on top of hers, his growing need to fulfill himself with a deeper intimacy straining his pants. Of course—just as always—he’d ensure everything he did was accepted by the woman beneath him. He listened intently to her muffled whines for any indication of discontent, minding her body’s cues of pleasure or hesitance. 

Though with each passing second he libidinously traversed her body, he seemed to meet no reluctance. He wryly admitted to himself that it did his masculine ego no harm to know that he was accepted so readily by his woman, particularly given her lack of experience in bed—and the harsh reality that what little she did know of concupiscence, was uniformly terrifying and abusive.

He had earned her trust in the matter of time they’d spent together, resulting in him openly treasuring every aspect of her. He felt that he was the wealthiest man of all, as his Lady was a diamond in his eyes, and even then, worth that much more.

Diarmuid eagerly flicked her left nipple with his tongue before enveloping the whole of her rosy areolae into his hot mouth. His left hand steadied his balance, as his right fondled her other petite breast, the malleable flesh sending his desire whirling ever higher. The Irishman unconsciously rutted against her mound, hoping she was as enticed as he felt. As if she heard his thoughts, Haley uttered the cutest little observation in a muffled voice.

“Oh… your… thing… I can feel it…” 

“Yes… I’m being terribly honest with how much you excite me…” He gazed into those lustrous pools of cerulean and trailed the back of his finger down her front, stopping just above her pubic triangle. While it may not seem so, a thought had occurred and he instantly worried his approach was too brazen. This was only their second time being so… debauched, and she had been burdened in this manner once before... “Is… this too forward for you? If you are uncomfortable—”

Haley shook her head vigorously, “N-No…! ‘Course not…” She hooked her arms behind his neck, pulling his weight against her and raising her hips to meet his. The reflexive shudder they simultaneously shared, coupled with Diarmuid’s light inhalation, was enough to rattle her. “I like it… I think.” 

His grin turned nearly devilish, as the Irishman marveled at her exposed thigh with the flats of his hands as far as their position would grant him, while also not diverting from their closeness. “Hmm… that’s not quite convincing, my Lady.” He offered her a playful wink as her skin bumped with gooseflesh.

Squirming beneath him, she reached up to knead the back of his neck, her untutored but ardent fingers causing him to practically purr in response. The draft from the open balcony doors kissed her skin when he finally removed the nightie. The rough edges of his warrior’s calluses brushed upon her flanks and made her nerves sing a wonderful song. Haley knew he was teasing, but she wanted to express her reciprocation or convince him that she was committed to all he had to offer. 

If only she knew how. “I… don’t know how to express it.” 

Adorably innocent. If Diarmuid could blush, his face would be redder than roses at her pureness. “However you like, if not at all, just—” he kissed the wrinkles in her forehead, “Be you, love.” 

The gentleness in his voice made Haley’s heart kick up a breath-taking notch. She felt undeserving… though utterly at peace. She had thought she’d be embarrassed by her lack of proper expression, but having her Knight’s approval despite it all gave her more than an ounce of confidence. Simply hearing him call her ‘love’ unlocked a level of emotion Haley had not realized dwelt within; the buoyant, joyous butterflies caused by his sincere affection grew tenfold with his tender endearment.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, the woman braved a more personal approach. Diarmuid had bequeathed her his gentle and stimulating caresses, but she was yet to reciprocate with the same degree of passion and commitment. The Psychic swept the stray lock from his nose and curled it behind his ear. “Okay…” she muttered, dragging her hands down his rugged sides ever so delicately.

She found the hemline of his pants; he returned her exploration by kissing her shoulder just beneath her chin as he nestled the fullness of his lips into the crook of her neck. Her body jostled from the electrifying sensation, a building heat in places she blanched from thinking about. Tiny hands dipped into his pants, a light groan from her Knight tickling sensitive nerves in her neck. 

Hoping that was a good sign, Haley’s open palm caressed his semi-erect arousal over his underwear and nibbled her lip. “Do… you like it…?” she asked, nervous that her silly attempt wouldn’t be to his liking. 

Diarmuid nodded into her hair, weaving his fingers through the long, silky locks. “You… can remove them if you desire.” When she shifted back to gaze upon him with confusion, a slight smirk quirked in the corner of his mouth. “My pants, I mean.” 

“Oh!” Haley stifled her laugh, shaking her head at the stupidity that must have masked her features. Her tongue trailed her lip at the thought of him completely naked. The furthest she’d glimpsed him before was in his underwear, but now…

The woman's throat bobbed as she glanced at the button on his pants, remembering her struggle to remove them the last time. Carefully, she removed her hand from his groin and pulled at the corner, unhooking the troublesome thing and then unzipping him. All the while, Diarmuid continued to handle her body with ease, locating each brittle spot and assuring her breathing was labored at the sensations he delivered with his mouth and hands.

When his pants were coupled with his underwear, they were kicked off the side of the bed to find the floor; she noticed her Knight was plenty good at exhibiting his control, as he was still only partially erect. Haley wedged her arms underneath his build, finding his length and taking a stiff hold. He was still so cool to the touch, but soft in her hand. She shifted, the angle a little off and retracted herself from him when she saw him wince. “S-Sorry…! The angle it’s just… different from when you showed me before.” 

Diarmuid (still hovering over her) took her little hand in his with a light chuckle. “It’s alright,” he said, drawing up her hand and placing it back upon him. He guided her touch, all the while moving his position over her from the bed to just a bit higher so her arms were not at full reach. Meanwhile, he adjusted her to the rhythm he liked before he released his grip. 

Nodding into his pectorals, Haley replicated what he’d shown her, increasing her strokes, and finding her own balance. She’d shifted and alternated to be consistent with the movement of his hip—to the light sounds of pleasure humming through his lips.

Not wanting to be the only one enjoying pleasantries, Diarmuid continued where he’d paused earlier. Keeping himself propped up by his right hand, his left was free to skim down her leg, adoring the velvety skin and finding his way to her excitement in between. A quick touch revealed dampness seeping through the ladywear that kept her from joining him in nudity. To excite her this much… for  _ him  _ to be so enraptured by her...

His lips caught hers, as she curiously closed her legs around his, her fumbling hands driving his wicked desperation for her into overdrive. If not for wanting to take his time to ensure she was comfortable, he’d have taken her the moment her body silently asked for attention. 

Instead, he pressed the pads of his deft fingers to her center over her underwear, fighting the urge to redirect her inconsistent (but lovely despite it all) ministrations back to her sides. Reluctantly, he retreated from their languorous kiss. “Do I have permission to pleasure you here?” he asked, feeling her hesitation in her slowed fondling of him; the unsurety mingling in her features had him clarifying, “No no, not with that. Just my hands, my mouth...” he moved to her neck and planted a kiss there. “If that’s too much—”

Haley gently released his member, but not before running her index finger underneath it all the way to the tip, his quiver eliciting a quirk of her lip. She turned and nibbled his ear.

It wasn't that he was too aggressive or anything of the like: it was that her heart stammered. The desire in her body grew with each touch he made. She wanted him. More than anything, she wanted to share herself with him entirely. “It’s not too much…  _ none _ of this is, but… I… actually want…” her eyes drifted downward to the impressive stiffness below, and his golden hue followed her line of sight.

Diarmuid inched himself above her to gander at her face, affirming he was hearing her correctly, to check if any doubt lingered in the question she was about to ask. “Are you sure? Seconds ago, you seemed…” he trailed off, worrying that the way in which he spoke would offend her, but she simply smoothed her palms on his skin.

“I… was just thinking… this is all, still so new to me, but…” She fiddled with the chain of the necklace dangling over her, finding the silver gleaming tag at the end. “Diarmuid… I… want to know what it’s like… to feel you inside of me…”

Studying the bright red spreading across her features, the Knight lowered his forehead to hers. “You are certain, then…?” he whispered, rubbing the edge of his index finger into the cleft of her folds. If only he could express how dignified he felt in knowing she desired him in such a way… his frigid heart cheered from pure elation. 

His Lady trusted him. Not for just his hospitality or chivalry (because he for sure as hell treated Haley like shit when they had first met) but because even then, she knew who he was before curses and bitterness had overtaken him, and she helped him find himself once again. She saw him,  _ really _ saw him, for his mind, heart and  _ soul _ . 

His woman nodded, carding her fingers through his silky hair as she instinctively rubbed against him. “I am… I don’t think I can trust anyone else in the world but you with this…” If his heart still beat, Diarmuid knew it would have stopped upon hearing her simple, yet profound, little statement. He knew—from the personal history she had shyly revealed—that her virtue was a step in a level of intimacy she had waited years to share, haunted as she was by the ghosts—and living demons—from her past. To be offered such a special, treasured part of her… it was more than a gift, more than an honor… more than a blessing. He briefly closed his eyes, humbled beyond measure.

And although she gave her permission to take her, even if her spot was glazed with pure arousal—Diarmuid wanted to wholly confirm her body was ready.

With ease, he coaxed the panties from her, only drifting away from her to lift them over her bent thighs and discard them to the side. For a second, his eyes roved, taking in her naked form once more; loving each curve, as she had worshipped his own—relishing how beautiful she was, before he lowered himself to her thighs and kissed them. 

“Diar…?” Haley’s voice was a lustful whisper, but he did not stop pecking smooches all the way to her pubic triangle. He focused his attention on her lower lips, spreading them with the tip of his tongue. He settled directly on the bundle of nerves, her muffled moan making him smile. Skillfully he pleasured her sweet spot, while his index finger coated itself in her excitement, testing the waters. 

“Mmm…that’s not...” the woman fidgeted. It wasn’t that she didn’t entertain the idea of him touching and fingering her—it was that she was desperate for... well, honestly it was awkward to say it. Diarmuid halted his touch the moment she voiced concern, which was the last thing she wanted to happen. “I meant... you’re… you’re not going to put in your… you know?”

Her Knight lifted his face and smiled; a beautiful expression, that sent her heart racing. 

“Hold out a little while longer,” he rasped in between sweet kisses at the apex of her thighs. He grazed her entrance with his finger, debating, calculating, before slipping it in ever so slightly. When he met resistance, he stopped. “You’re not yet wet enough.” he answered her questioning glance. “I fear it won’t be pleasurable if I… if I take you as you are now.” 

It was difficult to withhold himself. Oh, he wanted to have her begging, whispering his name. Ready—willing and panting—beneath him. Clinging to him as he penetrated her over and over, with the love he truly did wish to convey. But he'd wait—he had to. She was _ precious _ , and should be handled with care, though she had never been. She had already been through so much and deserved this moment to be as perfect as he could make it for her. 

After all, his Lady had shielded him from his own horrors and gifted him peace. He would take his time, make sure she was ready, and joyful. He wanted her to feel  _ good _ , and to look back on her offering herself to  _ him _ —to her first time—and rejoice. 

"How, how do we… fix that?" Haley felt her face burn, she had thought she was ready but if he believed her not to be then she'd follow his direction. He  _ was  _ more adept in the adventures of… (dare she think it)  _ sex _ , and she wanted nothing more than for them to mold into each other. 

"I'll attend to you here…" Diarmuid delighted in his Lady’s bashful squeak when he applied pressure to the swollen node, deftly swirling and coaxing her into a higher sense of merriment. “And here…” he roused, claiming her thrumming pulse beneath her ear with the base of his mouth, nurturing it with a fervor he knew she loved. 

Stars danced in the telekentic’s line of vision... whether from ecstasy or from the headboard she accidentally nudged her noggin on, she didn’t have a clue. But the cackle of laughter shared between the two of them served to edge her on more—made her  _ want _ more. If she and her Knight could share such undiluted laughter in such vulnerable moments like these, then no matter how new or callow she may be: it didn't matter.

Only their oneness did. 

Haley settled from her giggling fit just moments after her partner did, raising his lips to meet hers in a slow, tentative kiss before pulling away. “Please, I can’t wait anymore,” she pleaded ardently. “I’ve waited years for a moment as beautiful as this with someone as captivating as you.” She nipped at his lip, keeping her gaze focused on his lustrous orbs that dilated with desire and attachment, as no other had ever given her. She would always,  _ always _ treasure that look.

Diarmuid leashed his urges and lowered his face onto the curvy spot of her neck. He swam in the joy of her heat clamping on to him, the pulsing life against his cheek. Despite her obvious willingness, he needed to hear it once more, needed her to clarify her  _ need _ for him inside her, though he believed they could take more time with foreplay. “Tell me once more—I want you to be entirely sure, Lady Haley.” 

He licked the delicate vein to right underneath her ear, lining up his stiffness to tease her slick entrance, withholding a shudder as her wetness coated the tip of his cock…shredding the very short leash he’d placed upon himself.

Turning so that their noses were touching, the infamous stray lock tickling her upper lip, Haley pressed her eyes shut and nodded.

She was nervous. Scared, even, of what it was going to feel like: of what she held back from doing for so long, the idea of intimacy now almost a joke to her. "I’m… a little scared…" 

She had felt a deep apprehension until she met him in person; until she had seen the soul that was her Knight; until she’d fought with him, and for him; had taken on countless strife for his soul’s redemption and safety, while he offered her the same. She’d seen how willing he was to throw himself into countless tortures to ensure  _ her  _ safety. 

_ He’ll take his time with me, just like he has this entire night. _ With that thought in mind she would lose herself in their togetherness—in finding the answers to what this love meant to her… to  _ him _ .

Diarmuid turned his head side-to-side with a gentle understanding. "Do not be," he cupped her face in his hands and whispered, a hair's breadth away, "I will take utmost care that you relish our joining, as I only wish to please you.” 

Her heart skipped a tantalizing beat. Haley would give him _everything_ … and not look back. Tonight. Before the tournament laid either of them to rest, before anyone else could step in the way of their unity, before they would go their separate ways (unless there was some incredible way to bring him back to the world of the living with her).

“Make  _ love _ to me, Diarmuid.”

Her voice—that ragged, impenetrable vow—beckoned to his heart.

_ Love. _

It took all the Gods to restrain his lust to drive himself inside her right then. The adulation and eagerness in her tone, the glistening in her dazzling eyes, almost drained his carefulness and bordered turning him to putty. 

Yes, he would give her his love.

Diarmuid’s heart danced in bliss. It had been so long, so  _ agonizingly  _ long since he'd been blessed with this kind of powerful emotion. No, not since that bit of life he'd had with the Loathly Lady, not since the King of Knights had smiled upon him in the midst of war with that indomitable spirit. In his true life, he’d lost that love; in his second existence, his love was not returned. Though here—somehow—in this bleak place devoid of conviction and honor, he’d found it.

“Give me  _ everything  _ that you are…  _ please _ ...” she whispered against his lips. 

_ E verything  _ _that I am_ … hearing his Lady’s heartfelt plea snapped the final threads of his restraint. Stifling her begging with a kiss, Diarmuid twined her fingers with his, settling their joined hands over her head. All the worlds narrowed down to this one moment—this one miraculous, beautiful, amazing woman who had unexpectedly become both his savior and his passion. 

Hesitation finally cast aside, he gently entered her, slowly stretching her inner walls until his entire thick length rested inside, rocking his hips to ease the sure sting of his intimate intrusion. Haley clutched at his back with a wince, gasping and whining a little as her nails raked into his skin; he captured her tiny cries of distress with his lips. 

He paused, waiting for her to adjust to his girth, the ragged rise and fall of her much smaller chest denoting the angst she was doubtless experiencing. Sparing a sideways glance at their connection, a string of red caught his eye before he fixed his attention on the tightness that clamped down on him. “Easy…you’re alright,” he lightly spoke into her ear, nibbling at the lobe and nudging his temple to hers. “Relax, my Lady… your body is tense.” 

Haley squeezed the hand desperately locked in his, taking in a deep breath. Even though Diarmuid was  benevolent and gradual as he’d slowly sunk into her, the pinch from his initial drive and the fullness of expanding to fit him was all too new, and unfamiliar. It didn’t help that she’d accidentally braced herself after she’d offered her consent.  _ Stupid defense mechanisms of my stupid anxiety, _ she grumbled to herself. 

“Breathe, sweetheart.” She listened to his nurturing rasp, as he returned the reassuring clasp, letting loose the air she tucked in her burning lungs in a light heave. 

The ache in her loins slowly blew out like an extinguished candle, as she nestled her temple at the front of his chest, just above her Knight’s clavicle. She was so…  _ full.  _ She couldn't think what to make of it. A pang yet lingered, but... “C-Can… you try moving…?” she braved the question, since the spasming had died down. She didn’t bother asking him to be slow, or gentle, knowing full well he’d take extra caution and care.

Diarmuid—still balancing himself on one hand—kissed the top of her frazzled locks and began to move. He leisurely rocked his hips, keeping his movements shallow and soft. “How does this feel?” he asked, his eyelids fluttering to a close at the extraordinary feel  of her tight heat clenching around his hardness… every slow, involuntary constriction sending his nervous system into rapturous overdrive. 

If only she knew how wonderful she made him feel… not just in body, but in  _ spirit.  _

"It… feels a little weird…" Haley awkwardly giggled, letting go of his hand and draping her slender arms around his taut back. She found herself tracing the indents there, distracting herself from the strange sensations building down below. 

Diarmuid cocked his head with a chuckle and light smile. "It’s weird?" 

"Mhmm…" she nodded; he leaned in close, his lips barely grazing hers. “B-But… I think I’m… starting to like it.” At least, that’s what she assumed the building pressure felt like, as the tingling spread through her in waves. 

Her beloved soul slanted his mouth to hers, resurrecting his motion… which, though slow, helped regulate the throbbing down below. Haley continued to touch and explore the body above hers, making an effort to control her breathing as she subtly rocked herself to match his actions. She began to lose herself to the tanginess of his mouth, to the soreness that now shaped to be… oddly pleasant.

Her internal embrace slacking, her labored but controlled breathing: all were good signs that pointed in the direction to boost his efforts and draw out her pleasure—but no, the Irish Legend would always lean towards caution— “Is it alright… to move faster?”

“Yeah, more, give me…  _ more _ ...”

The words pushed him over the edge he’d been balancing on. Diarmuid increased his motility, his jerks strengthening as they picked up in intensity. Her body barely protested, loosening with each plunge. The quiet moans of their entwined mouths drove his thrusts deeper, harder. 

_ Fuck, this is—! _ Haley couldn't finish the thought as he amped up the pace. The burning and tingling sensation amplified—it was a mixture of pain and pleasure she had yet to understand, but… it was so fulfilling; every second he moved, every touch he made, represented nothing but love and intimacy. 

More, she wanted more, she’d told him. Though there had been a slight pause, Diarmuid had delivered. Whatever he was withholding was released in a surge of fervor. He was buried inside her, yet her core (while on fire from his feverish rutting) wasn't satisfied. She twined her legs around his waist, clumsily urging him deeper still, as she dragged her nails down his back. His moans delivered rich satisfaction in knowing he was having a great liking of this, too.

Feeling adventurous as the ache in her loins finally relented, Haley palmed his chest to push him lightly onto his side, using her weight to roll them over. Diarmuid looked up at her curiously as she settled herself on top of him, her legs straddling his waist. 

He gripped her slender torso, drawing circles on her warm skin. His woman looked at him, a silent query in her glacier-blue orbs. Perfectly reading the insecurity that lay there, he encouraged her, “Find your pace.” Diarmuid smiled indulgently as he watched her nibble her lower lip in a familiar, adorable tell. 

Haley briefly inhaled before bending over, her hair spilling luxuriantly as she settled her the flats of her hands to the center of Diarmuid’s chest, bracing herself and rolling her hips. Diarmuid’s digits pressed securely on her torso—but not painfully so—as he assisted her movement.

Hearing her uninhibited gasps and moans come to fruition as he guided her to find the right depth, angles, and rhythm to maximize her pleasure… Diarmuid thought the modulations of ecstasy tumbling from Haley’s parted mouth were quite as beautiful as the sight of her lithe body riding his. Every downstroke sent shivers of pure delight throughout his tensed body. He bucked his hips to match her now-steady cadence, desperate to draw out every last drop of pleasure from their joining.

He missed this. Not the act itself, no, but the emotions  _ and  _ bond he felt—at the feeling of her confidently lying flush against him; the way her hands traversed his body with conviction; how her sweet channel welcomed his ever-increasing thrusts. To say her love did not feel incredible would be insulting, and patently untrue. 

Perspiration built at her temples as her breathing became labored. Diarmuid slid his hands up her back and planted her to lie close across his breast bone. It was an effort to keep his own breathing steady underneath his gorgeous woman, rocking her body as she sought more from her heightening satisfaction. 

“Beautiful, you are beautiful,” he muttered between croons of delight, kissing her lips, her jaw, her throat. “Haley… you feel… incredible…” 

Haley halted. “You—” she settled her wonder on the sharp curve of his chin, the shine in his sweet, caramel eyes. “You said my name.” 

She didn’t know why, but hearing her name like a prayer on his steady lips— _ just _ her name… no properness to it, no lord-like calling to it… the affection with which said it—made her heart thunder in her chest, as if it wanted to burst and engulf him in its vulnerability. “You never… only call me by my name.” At first it was Master, then gave way to My lady, then Lady Haley; and now—just hearing  _ Haley _ … 

Diarmuid didn’t quite understand why she was so enamored by the simple utterance of her name… until he did. He’d lost all the centuries-old formality with which he had regarded her. The simple ‘Haley’ represented him finally tearing down the inculcated old belief that she was superior to him. He’d removed the title to leave her as an equal, and he loved how much that seemed to move her. 

Tears filled to the brim of her eyes. She steadied herself upright, an internal fire scorching her irises as she demanded, “Say it again.” 

Balancing her weight to shift her with him, the Knight fixed them into a sitting position. “Haley…” he softly repeated, appreciating the sound of it, as he returned her fiery gaze. 

The gratitude in her quivering lip and glossy eyes— he swore the sight of her made his still heart stammer. It was then she wrapped her legs around his torso to sink on top of him, ensuring his cock was lodged as deeply it could go, causing her to buck over his shoulder. 

His throat bobbed, as his hands found her plump little rear and shimmied her body up and down, propelling himself at the same time. “I can no longer hold myself back… you are too wonderful!” He lost his much-vaunted self control as everything he thought, every emotion he’d felt that night drove him into her, drilling her pleasure as her moans bounced off the walls.

“Yes… let me hear you… moan for me, my lady, my heart, my  _ Haley _ ,” his voice was a throaty, carnal rasp as he planted his mouth everywhere he could. His hands gave her bum a firm squeeze, his left letting go to cherish the bare thigh snugged around him. 

Haley dug her nails in the hard skin of his shoulders at the seductive sound of her name, devouring the intensity that filled between her legs. “Diar… oh my gosh…  _ Diarmuid _ !” 

She was lost to their passion, the pure ecstasy from every feverish thrust and touch, yet it still didn’t fulfill her. She wanted to touch him everywhere, just as he was touching her. She yearned to roam her hands over every scar of his past, to weave her fingers through the quirky locks that were coming undone. 

Her heart skipped so many wild beats as he returned her moans of ebullience. Fireworks cracked and boomed in her chest, the aftershocks travelling through her veins and core. Was… was this what love was like? Not just sex, but actual  _ love?  _

Haley couldn't comprehend it—she couldn’t believe she was fortuitous enough to experience it. All she knew was that it didn't matter he was a spirit given this temporary physical form, or that she was a living being, and their very  _ togetherness _ was temporary. This undeniable, astonishing feeling—she  _ knew  _ it would last for her entire existence. With Diarmuid, a man of the past; but now he was undeniably her present and future. 

Panting raggedly, Diarmuid tensed as his pulsating movement inside her became more drawn out, his strokes rapidly increasing in depth as his gratification reached breaking point. He refocused his concentration on his Lady, her fevered reactions and answering upward jerks satisfying his overarching need to see to her pleasure, first and foremost. His desperate nerves frayed with every clench and release from her previously untried inner muscles as they took everything he could give with enthusiasm and mutual lust. 

The impassioned look in her half-slitted eyes added to his growing tension; he battled against reaching his peak too soon, even as he knew the climax of their lovemaking drew closer with every euphoric second… Clinging tighter, she bit at his corded neck, her lips snuggling in the crease between sinew and bone. Her legs gripped harder to pull him closer, her beautiful mouth unabashedly begging for him to finish inside her—he almost lost the war he was waging then and there.

Diarmuid jolted upwards, yanking his lover down as close to him after a few wicked strokes until he finally found release.  Haley’s inner convulsions triggered his own, each delicious squeeze and shudder prolonging his apex. Relief as well as absolute rapture washed over the Irishman, as he knew he could not have staved off his powerful orgasm for much longer—such was the furious intensity of their coupling.  Their mouths fused as her body absorbed every last bit of the magical energy pumping into it. His own chest rose and fell from the pure and utter ecstasy, as he and his lady attempted to catch their breaths. 

He held her on top of him, desperate to keep her as close to him for as long as he could, reveling in her hammering heartbeat against him. She panted his name into his mouth, as he remained inside her. Silence spread between them, as they both steadied. Haley pulled back first, and he helped her lift off him, as she stumbled before lying flat against the bed.

The telekinetic was spent. There was a… satisfying pulsing between her legs, and she didn’t mind it at all. She felt proud and fortunate she’d waited this long to open herself to this sort of euphoria. Her cheeks rose in color at the thought, as she took in her beloved Knight. 

Diarmuid glanced over the brilliance coloring her pretty little face, his heart softening as he took in the utterly contented smile that made her entire countenance glow with bliss. She was happy, as was he… The damn happiest he’d ever been. A crack in his chest—one that had caught him unaware—was sealed by their lovemaking. He laid her on her side and took her wrist to his lips while he remained on his knees. 

Dabbing his index finger over the dimple that found itself on her cheek, Diarmuid asked quietly, “Did it hurt…?”

Haley shook her with a scoffing chuckle. There was nothing in that moment that hurt, physically or emotionally. Cupping his cheeks in her palms she replied, “No, not all. It… was extraordinary the entire time. Just like you.” 

Diarmuid merely nodded, debating if… if he was ready to disclose the truth he held in his heart. Never had he felt so content, even with the future still so uncertain. But—knowing how little occasions they had, and all they’d been through—he reconciled there would be no better time than now. She deserved to know.

“Haley,” he started somberly, purposefully leaving out the honorifics to maintain the gleam that overtook her. He respired deeply, tears pricking his eyes much to his surprise. “I know our time is… limited, and each moment we share just might be our last.” He kissed the clammy palm of her hand, as her own eyes glistened with moisture. “But I wish to give you my heart for as long as fate allows us to be together… For I love you, with my entire body, heart, and soul.” 

Haley cupped his cheek in her right hand, brushing away the stray tears with her thumb. She knew they were born of happiness, but she hated to see them, nonetheless. Never did she want him to harbor any disquiet for experiencing love, and trusting someone with his loyalty.

Removing her hand from his cheek, she placed a delicate, reassuring palm over his as his fingers circled her wrist. She met his golden hues. “I gladly take it, Diarmuid, and I promise you, I will do your love no harm. I will take such care of it.” she tenderly vowed, pulling him down so his head rested beneath her chin. 

The finest tremble shivered through his borrowed body as her fervent words burrowed into his consciousness, the satiation from their physical coupling blending with the euphoria he felt on a metaphysical level. Centuries of having his love abused and rejected swiftly eroded away as the Knight realized that here—at last— was a woman who knew him, and loved him for everything he was… for everything he had been, and for everything he  _ could  _ be, given a chance to flourish under her gentle, all-encompassing support and pure love. 

Wrapping his arm around her slender form, he finally replied, “I trust you will… I trust you with my love and my soul, my Haley… come what may.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A smut scene that is meant to be more emotionally impactful than smutty but still somehow was delivered as such. I am sooo ahh, gloriously in love with this scene. Diarmuid and Haley are best couple, sorry, Ive already decided. XD 
> 
> But yes, Ive revisited his past loves, acknowledged the obvious love he had for Arturia. Personally, I love them also as a couple, but it never really seemed as though she felt the same way. She was quite busy with her ideals and goal for the grail to really venture into having, "feelings" even though there was some attachment. It just seemed like it was more platonic than anything. 
> 
> Regardless, I hope that its not too forward and that this chapter gives off what I was expecting of it for you readers. It took 56 damn chapters of their building relationship through the trials of the Arena to blossom into the love they both feel for the other. It's meant to be a big moment for both of them in their own, delicate, separate ways. Plus, having Diarmuid guide Haley through the experience and her trusting him to do so, well, it means a lot I think to both given their history.
> 
> Anyway, im babbling. Please tell me what you think of this scene and more! 
> 
> Look forward to seeing you in the next chapter!


End file.
